that woman seemed to say with that terrified glance, " don’t come back and plague your honest, hard-working mother. You are no longer like a son to me - and like your father, my first husband.
‘Ere this kindly Greek took pity on me. " (The proprietor was a Greek with hairy arms.) " You are no good, inclined to drunkenness and routs and final disgraceful robbery of the fruits of my ‘umble labors in the hashery. O son! did you not ever go on your knees and pray for deliverance for all your sins and scoundrel’s acts? Lost boy! Depart! Do not haunt my soul; I have done well forgetting you.
Reopen no old wounds, be as if you had never returned and looked in to me - to see my laboring humilities, my few scrubbed pennies - hungry to grab, quick to deprive, sullen, unloved, mean-minded son of
