"
Gregorio gratefully seized the flagon and let the wine trickle down his
throat, while Madam Marx, with arms akimbo, stood patiently before him.
"I must go now," he said, as he handed back the half-emptied flask.
"Why?"
"Because I must get some work."
"It is not easy to get work in the summer."
"I know, but I must get some. I owe money to Amos."
"Yes, I know. But your wife is making money now."
The man scowled at her. "How do you know that? Before God, I swear that
she is not."
"Come, come, Gregorio. You were drunk last night, and your tongue wagged
pretty freely. It's not a bit of use being angry with me, because I only
know what you've told me. Besides, I'm your friend, you know that."
Gregorio flushed angrily at the woman's words, but he knew quite well
it was no use replying to them, for she was speaking only the truth. But
the knowledge that he had betrayed his secret annoyed him. He had grown
used to the facts and could look at them easily enough, but he had not
reckoned on others also learning them.
He determined to go out and find work, or at any rate to tramp the
streets pretending to look for something to do.
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