If you'll just let me alone I'll get a livin' for you and the chillen right enough.

Don't you trouble yourself--an' hold your tongue!" She threw down her apron with a gesture of despair as she stood beside him, in front of the fire, watching the pan.
"What am I to do, Jim, an' them chillen--when you're took to prison ?" she asked him vehemently.
"I shan't get took to prison, I tell yer.

All the same, Westall got holt o' me this mornin'.

I thought praps you'd better know." Her exclamation of terror, her wild look at him, were exactly what he had expected; nevertheless, he flinched before them.

His brutality was mostly assumed.