After I had pawned my things, and had begged a small advance of
wages at the place where I work to make up what was still wanting
to pay for Mary's funeral, I thought I might have had a little
quiet time to prepare myself as I best could for to-morrow. But
this was not to be. When I got home the landlord met me in the
passage. He was in liquor, and more brutal and pitiless in his
way of looking and speaking than ever I saw him before.
"So you're going to be fool enough to pay for her funeral, are
you?" were his first words to me.
I was too weary and heart-sick to answer; I only tried to get by
him to my own door.
"If you can pay for burying her," he went on, putting himself in
front of me, "you can pay her lawful debts. She owes me three
weeks' rent. Suppose you raise the money for that next, and hand
it over to me? I'm not joking, I can promise you. I mean to have
my rent; and, if somebody don't pay it, I'll have her body seized
and sent to the workhouse!"
Between terror and disgust, I thought I should have dropped to
the floor at his feet. But I determined not to let him see how he
had horrified me, if I could possibly control myself. So I
mustered resolution enough to answer that I did not believe the
law gave him any such wicked power over the dead.
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