“Slave, slave, slave, from morning to night,” pursued the person of the house, “and all for this! What do you mean by it?”

There was something in that emphasized “What,” which absurdly frightened the figure. As often as the person of the house worked her way round to it⁠—even as soon as he saw that it was coming⁠—he collapsed in an extra degree.

“I wish you had been taken up, and locked up,” said the person of the house. “I wish you had been poked into cells and black holes, and run over by rats and spiders and beetles. I know their tricks and their manners, and they’d have tickled you nicely. Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Yes, my dear,” stammered the father.