BRODIE. Sore hearing, does he say? My hand’s wet. But it’s victory. Shall it be go? or stay? [I should show them all I can, or they may pry closer than they ought.] Shall I have it out and be done with it? To see Mary at once [to carry bastion after bastion at the charge]—there were the true safety after all! Hurry—hurry’s the road to silence now. Let them once get tattling in their parlours, and it’s death to me. For I’m in a cruel corner now. I’m down, and I shall get my kicking soon and soon enough. I began it in the lust of life, in a hey-day of mystery and adventure. I felt it great to be a bolder, craftier rogue than the drowsy citizen that called himself my fellow-man. [It was meat and drink to know him in the hollow of my hand, hoarding that I and mine might squander, pinching that we might wax fat.] It was in the laughter of my heart that I tip-toed into his greasy privacy. I forced the strong-box at his ear while he sprawled beside his wife. He was my butt, my ape, my jumping-jack. And now . . . O fool, fool! [Duped by such knaves as are a shame to knavery, crime’s rabble, hell’s tatterdemalions!] Shorn to the quick! Rooked to my vitals! And I must thieve for my daily bread like any crawling blackguard in the gutter. And my sister . . . my kind, innocent sister! She will come smiling to me with her poor little love-story, and I must break her heart. Broken hearts, broken lives! . . . I should have died before. SCENE VI BRODIE, MARY MARY (_tapping without_). Can I come in, Will? BRODIE. O yes, come in, come in! (MARY _enters_.) I wanted to be quiet, but it doesn’t matter, I see. You women are all the same. MARY. O no, Will, they’re not all so happy, and they’re not all Brodies. But I’ll be a woman in one thing. For I’ve come to claim your promise, dear; and I’m going to be petted and comforted and made much of, altho’ I don’t need it, and . . . Why, Will, what’s wrong with you? You look . . . I don’t know what you look like. BRODIE. O nothing! A splitting head and an aching heart. Well! you’ve come to speak to me. Speak up. What is it? Come, girl! What is it? Can’t you speak? MARY. Why, Will, what is the matter? BRODIE. I thought you had come to tell me something. Here I am. For God’s sake out with it, and don’t stand beating about the bush. MARY. O be kind, be kind to me. BRODIE. Kind? I am kind. I’m only ill and worried, can’t you see? Whimpering? I knew it! Sit down, you goose! Where do you women get your tears?