Look at that!" Her voice was persistently rising and at the same time growing throaty.

"The only shoes I got.Me.Your wife.

Ain't you ashamed?
Where are my three pairs?
Look at that stockin'." Speech failed her, and she sat down suddenly on a chair at the table, glaring unutterable malevolence and misery.

She arose with the abrupt stiffness of an automaton, poured herself a cup of cold coffee, and in the same jerky way sat down again.

As if too hot for her lips, she filled her saucer with the greasy-looking, nondescript fluid, and continued her set glare, her breast rising and falling with staccato, mechanical movement.
"Now, Sarah, be c'am, be c'am," Tom pleaded anxiously.
In response, slowly, with utmost deliberation, as if the destiny of empires rested on the certitude of her act, she turned the saucer of coffee upside down on the table.