all, why not?

MARY. We can get the poor little thing some warm clothes, some good food--

JOE. [_Under his breath._] A thief's daughter.

[_Covers his face with his hands._

MARY. Joe!

JOE. Not nice, is it? Can't be helped, of course. And who cares? For three
months this game has gone on--we getting shabbier, wretcheder,
hungrier--no one bothers--all _they_ say is "keep off the pavement." Let's
see what's in the purse.

MARY. [_Eagerly._] Yes, yes!

JOE. [_Lifting his head as he is on the point of opening the purse._]
That's the policeman passing.

MARY. [_Impatiently._] Never mind that--

JOE. [_Turning to the purse again._] First time in my life I've been afraid
when I heard the policeman.

[_He has his finger on the catch of the purse when he pauses for
a moment--then acting on a sudden impulse, makes a dart for the
door, opens it, and is out, and up the area steps._

MARY. [_With a despairing cry._] Joe!