Lydia, frightened, sprang forward and barred the way.
'Go and sit down, Thyrza!' 'Let me go! What right have you to stop me ?' Then both were silent.

At the same moment they became aware that a common incident of Saturday night was occurring had got thus far on their way home, the wife's shrill tongue in the street below.

A half-tipsy man and a nagging woman running over every scale of scurrility and striking every note of ingenious malice.

The man was at length worked to a pitch of frenzy, and then--thud, thud, mingled with objurgations and shrill night-piercing yells.

Fury little short of murderous was familiar enough to dwellers in this region, but that woman's bell-clapper tongue had struck shame into Lydia.