“I wish the nuisance would come,” she said wearily to herself.
The child at last sank down to sleep in her arms. She was too tired to carry him to the cradle.
“But I’ll say nothing, whatever time he comes,” she said. “It only works me up; I won’t say anything. But I know if he does anything it’ll make my blood boil,”she added to herself.
She sighed, hearing him coming, as if it were something she could not bear. He, taking his revenge, was nearly drunk. She kept her head bent over the child as he entered, not wishing to see him. But it went through her like a flash of hot fire when, in passing, he lurched against the dresser, setting the tins rattling, and clutched at the white pot knobs for support. He hung up his hat and coat, then returned, stood glowering from a distance at her, as she sat bowed over the child.