11/13 She rocked to and fro upon a chair, shedding tears and crooning miserably to the two children about their "poor mother" and "yer fader, damn 'is soul." The little girl plodded between the table and the chair with a dish-pan on it. She tottered on her small legs beneath burdens of dishes. He cast furtive glances at his mother. His practised eye perceived her gradually emerge from a muddled mist of sentiment until her brain burned in drunken heat. He sat breathless. |