Numb with suffering the woman of the ghetto looked straight into the eyes of Mrs. Preston. “And you too--you too hold by the landlord’s side?--Oi--I see! Perhaps you too got property out by agents.” A sigh that had in it the resignation of utter hopelessness escaped from her. “Nothing can hurt me no more--And you always stood out to me in my dreams as the angel from love and beautifulness. You always made-believe to me that you’re only for democracy.” Tears came to Mrs. Preston’s eyes. But she made no move to defend herself or reply and Hanneh Hayyeh walked out in silence. A few days later the whole block was astir with the news that Hanneh Hayyeh had gone to court to answer her dispossess summons. From the windows, the stoop, from the hallway, and the doorway of the butcher-shop the neighbors were talking and gesticulating while waiting for Hanneh Hayyeh’s return. Hopeless and dead, Hanneh Hayyeh dragged herself to the butcher-shop. All made way for her to sit on the bench. She collapsed in a heap, not uttering a single sound, nor making a single move. The butcher produced a bottle of brandy and, hastily filling a small glass, brought it to Hanneh Hayyeh. “Quick, take it to your lips,” he commanded. Weak from lack of food and exhausted by the ordeal of the court-room, Hanneh Hayyeh obeyed like a child. Soon one neighbor came in with a cup of hot coffee; another brought bread and herring with onion over it. Tense, breathless, with suppressed curiosity quivering on their lips, they waited till Hanneh Hayyeh swallowed the coffee and ate enough to regain a little strength. “Nu? What became in the court?” “What said the judge?” “Did they let you talk yourself out like you said you would?” “Was the murderer there to say something?” Hanneh Hayyeh wagged her head and began talking to herself in a low, toneless voice as if continuing her inward thought. “The judge said the same as Mrs. Preston said: the landlord has the right to raise our rent or put us out.” “Oi weh! If Hanneh Hayyeh with her fire in her mouth couldn’t get her rights, then where are we?” “To whom should we go? Who more will talk for us now?” “Our life lays in their hands.” “They can choke us so much as they like!” “Nobody cares. Nobody hears our cry!” Out of this babel of voices there flashed across Hanneh Hayyeh’s deadened senses the chimera that to her was the one reality of her aspiring soul--“Oi-i-i-i! My beautiful kitchen!” she sighed as in a dream. The butcher’s face grew red with wrath. His eyes gleamed like sharp, darting steel. “I wouldn’t give that robber the satisfaction to leave your grand painted house,” he said, turning to Hanneh Hayyeh. “I’d smash down everything for spite. You got nothing to lose. Such a murderer! I would learn him a lesson! ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’”