Who knows where she is? She's not fool enough to tell us. She thinks,
thinks she: they c'n have the trouble an' see how they gets along.

FABIG

Well, well, well! There you see again how folks is mistaken. I'd ha'
taken any oath ... an' not me, not me alone, but all the folks over in
Quolsdorf, that you was the mother o' that child.

HANNE

Yes, I knows right well who says that o' me. I could call 'em all by
name! They'd all like to make a common wench o' me. But if ever I lays my
hands on 'em I'll give 'em somethin' to remember me by.

FABIG

Well, it's a bad business--all of it! Because this is the way it is: the
old man, your father, I needn't be tellin' you--things is as they is--he
don't hardly get sober. He just drinks in one streak. Well, now that your
mother's been dead these two years, he can't leave the little thing--the
girl I mean--at home no more. The bit o' house is empty. An' so he drags
her around in the pubs, in all kinds o' holes, from one village taproom
to the next. If you sees that--it's enough to stir a dumb beast with
pity.

HANNE

[_With fierce impatience._] Is it my fault that he swills?