In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge:
"There's Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing tales about her little
children. They can't be all so little as she makes them out. Some of
them must be big enough by now to try to do something for themselves. It
only makes Stevie angry."
These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the kitchen
table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had become angry
on discovering that he had no shilling in his pocket. In his inability
to relieve at once Mrs Neale's "little 'uns'," privations he felt that
somebody should be made to suffer for it. Mrs Verloc rose, and went into
the kitchen to "stop that nonsense." And she did it firmly but gently.
She was well aware that directly Mrs Neale received her money she went
round the corner to drink ardent spirits in a mean and musty
public-house--the unavoidable station on the _via dolorosa_ of her life.
Mrs Verloc's comment upon this practice had an unexpected profundity, as
coming from a person disinclined to look under the surface of things. "Of
course, what is she to do to keep up? If I were like Mrs Neale I expect
I wouldn't act any different."
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