"You settle it with the owner," she said. "It's your affair; you've got
the money." She pretended to assume a certain calmness as though the
matter was something that no longer affected her. Her manner exasperated
McTeague all the more.
"No, I won't; no, I won't; I won't either," he shouted. "I'll pay my
half and he can come to you for the other half." Trina put a hand over
her ear to shut out his clamor.
"Ah, don't try and be smart," cried McTeague. "Come, now, yes or no,
will you pay your half?"
"You heard what I said."
"Will you pay it?"
"No."
"Miser!" shouted McTeague. "Miser! you're worse than old Zerkow. All
right, all right, keep your money. I'll pay the whole thirty-five. I'd
rather lose it than be such a miser as you."
"Haven't you got anything to do," returned Trina, "instead of staying
here and abusing me?"
"Well, then, for the last time, will you help me out?" Trina cut the
heads of a fresh bunch of onions and gave no answer.
"Huh? will you?"
"I'd like to have my kitchen to myself, please," she said in a mincing
way, irritating to a last degree. The dentist stamped out of the room,
banging the door behind him.
For nearly a week the breach between them remained unhealed.
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