"I'll
have to live in that dirty rat hole just so's you can save money. I
ain't any the better off for it."
"Find work to do, and then we'll talk," declared Trina. "I'M going to
save up some money against a rainy day; and if I can save more by living
here I'm going to do it, even if it is the house Maria was killed in. I
don't care."
"All right," said McTeague, and did not make any further protest. His
wife looked at him surprised. She could not understand this sudden
acquiescence. Perhaps McTeague was so much away from home of late that
he had ceased to care where or how he lived. But this sudden change
troubled her a little for all that.
The next day the McTeagues moved for a second time. It did not take them
long. They were obliged to buy the bed from the landlady, a circumstance
which nearly broke Trina's heart; and this bed, a couple of chairs,
Trina's trunk, an ornament or two, the oil stove, and some plates and
kitchen ware were all that they could call their own now; and this back
room in that wretched house with its grisly memories, the one window
looking out into a grimy maze of back yards and broken sheds, was what
they now knew as their home.
The McTeagues now began to sink rapidly lower and lower.
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