You got more'n five
thousand dollars, and you're so damned stingy that you'd rather live in
a rat hole--and make me live there too--before you'd part with a nickel
of it. I tell you I'm sick and tired of the whole business."
An allusion to her lottery money never failed to rouse Trina.
"And I'll tell you this much too," she cried, winking back the tears.
"Now that you're out of a job, we can't afford even to live in your rat
hole, as you call it. We've got to find a cheaper place than THIS even."
"What!" exclaimed the dentist, purple with rage. "What, get into a worse
hole in the wall than this? Well, we'll SEE if we will. We'll just see
about that. You're going to do just as I tell you after this, Trina
McTeague," and once more he thrust his face close to hers.
"I know what's the matter," cried Trina, with a half sob; "I know, I can
smell it on your breath. You've been drinking whiskey."
"Yes, I've been drinking whiskey," retorted her husband. "I've been
drinking whiskey. Have you got anything to say about it? Ah, yes, you're
RIGHT, I've been drinking whiskey. What have YOU got to say about my
drinking whiskey? Let's hear it."
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" sobbed Trina, covering her face with her hands.
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