Linton (imploringly).—Mrs. Benn. I—I—
Mrs. Benn (extending her arm threateningly).—Now you go. I tell you, I'm dingerous. It'll take more than Benn 'ere to 'old me if I turn on you. Wot do you think I am? A slive to work my fingers to the bone and my knees to jelly to feed the likes o' you?
Linton.—Mrs. Benn. I—I— (He advances a step.)
Mrs. Benn (savagely).—You won't go, eh? Let me at 'im! (Benn clutches her and holds her but hard work has made her stronger than he. She tears herself away and snatches up the poker.)
Benn.—For pity's sake, go, Mr. Linton! We don't want the perlice up 'ere.
Linton.—You're a kind woman, Mrs. Benn.
Mrs. Benn (with a flourish of the poker).—I'm not a kind woman! I'm a 'ard
