YOU take him a bit.' 'Not me,' replied Oswald, firmly, withdrawing a pace from the Secret.
Dora was fumbling with her waistband in the furthest corner of the hut.
'I think he's cold,' she said.

'I thought I'd take off my flannelette petticoat, only the horrid strings got into a hard knot.

Here, Oswald, let's have your knife.' With the word she plunged her hand into Oswald's jacket pocket, and next moment she was rubbing her hand like mad on her dress, and screaming almost as loud as the Baby.

Then she began to laugh and to cry at the same time.

This is called hysterics.
Oswald was sorry, but he was annoyed too.