"Let's--let's look at it," he said, hiccoughing again.
"Go away!" she cried.
"Lemme--lemme look at it, lass." She smelled him of drink, felt the unequal pull of his swaying grasp on the back of her rocking-chair.
"Go away," she said, and weakly she pushed him off.
He stood, uncertain in balance, gazing upon her.

Summoning all her strength she rose, the baby on one arm.

By a cruel effort of will, moving as if in sleep, she went across to the scullery, where she bathed her eye for a minute in cold water; but she was too dizzy.

Afraid lest she should swoon, she returned to her rocking-chair, trembling in every fibre.

By instinct, she kept the baby clasped.
Morel, bothered, had succeeded in pushing the drawer back into its cavity, and was on his knees, groping, with numb paws, for the scattered spoons.
Her brow was still bleeding.