The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. “Like a stab. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven.
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