Me, miss?
MARY. Yes, you.
ROBERT. Yus, I know it.
MARY [trying to save the sinner]. That isn't the way to be happy,
you know. Thieves are never _really_ happy in their hearts.
ROBERT. Wot's that? . . .
Do you tike me for a thief, miss? You? . . .
[He advances to the table: she edges away.]
Why don't you arnser?
MARY. I had rather not say.
ROBERT. Cos why?
MARY. I don't want to be unkind.
[ROBERT sinks stricken into the chair behind him.]
ROBERT, Oh, my Gawd, my Gawd!
MARY [relenting]. Of course, if--if you're sorry, that makes a
difference. Being sorry makes a lot of difference. Doesn't it?
ROBERT. Yus, a fat lot!
MARY. Only you must never give way to such a wicked temptation
again. Oh, don't cry! [She goes to him.]
ROBERT. Oo is cryin'? I'm not cryin'--not a cryin' sort!
On'y--you 'adn't no right to talk to me like that, miss.
MARY. Why, didn't you own . . .
ROBERT. No, I didn't. It was you as jumped down my throat, an'
took up my words afore I got 'em out.
MARY.
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