In the past two years and a half John Hewett had become a shaky old
man. Of his grizzled hair very little remained, and little of his
beard; his features were shrunken, his neck scraggy; he stooped
much, and there was a senile indecision in his movements. He wore
rough, patched clothing, had no collar, and seemed, from the state
of his hands, to have been engaged in very dirty work. As he entered
and came upon the riotous group his eyes lit up with anger. In a
strained voice he shouted a command of silence.
'It's all that Tom, father,' piped Annie. 'There's no living with
him.'
John's eye fell on the broken window.
'Which of you's done that?' he asked sternly, pointing to it.
No one spoke.
'Who's goin' to pay for it, I'd like to know? Doesn't it cost enough
to keep you, but you must go makin' extra expense? Where's the money
to come from, I want to know, if you go on like this?'
He turned suddenly upon the elder girl.
'I've got something to say to you, Miss. Why wasn't you at work this
morning?'
Amy avoided his look. Her pale face became mottled with alarm, but
only for an instant; then she hardened herself and moved her head
insolently.
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