]
Is she?
[He turns away from her.]
ROBERT. Fur as I am concerned--yus.
MARY. What do you mean? _Isn't_ she dead?
ROBERT. She's alive, right enough.
MARY. Perhaps--perhaps she ran away? . . .
ROBERT. She got took.
MARY. How do you mean--gypsies?
ROBERT. I _give_ 'er up. 'Ad to.
MARY. Why?
ROBERT. Look at me! . . .
_That_--an' the drink, an' the low wages, an' my ole woman dyin'!
That's why I give 'er up.
MARY. Where is she now?
ROBERT. Never you mind. She's bein' looked arfter.
MARY. By whom?
ROBERT. By people as I've allus 'ated like poison!
MARY. Why, aren't they kind to her?
ROBERT. Yus: they've made 'er summat, as I couldn't 'a' done.
MARY. Then why do you hate them ?
ROBERT. I don't any longer. I 'ates myself, I 'ates the world I
live in, I 'ates the bloomin' muck 'ole I've landed into!
MARY. Your wife's dead, you say?
ROBERT. Yus.
MARY. What would she think about it all?
ROBERT [hollowly, without variation]. I don't know: I don't know:
I don't know.
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