"You got no more use for them." McTeague was not at all sure of this.

There were many in the sheaf that might be repaired, reshaped.
"No, no," he said, wagging his head.

But Maria Macapa, knowing with whom she had to deal, at once let loose a torrent of words.

She made the dentist believe that he had no right to withhold them, that he had promised to save them for her.

She affected a great indignation, pursing her lips and putting her chin in the air as though wounded in some finer sense, changing so rapidly from one mood to another, filling the room with such shrill clamor, that McTeague was dazed and benumbed.
"Yes, all right, all right," he said, trying to make himself heard.