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We laughed at you, Griffiths and me, we laughed because
you was such a mug. A mug! A mug!’
Then she burst again into abominable invective. She ac-
cused him of every mean fault; she said he was stingy, she
said he was dull, she said he was vain, selfish; she cast viru-
lent ridicule on everything upon which he was most sensitive.
And at last she turned to go. She kept on, with hysterical vi-
olence, shouting at him an opprobrious, filthy epithet. She
seized the handle of the door and flung it open. Then she
turned round and hurled at him the injury which she knew
was the only one that really touched him. She threw into the
word all the malice and all the venom of which she was ca-
pable. She flung it at him as though it were a blow.
‘Cripple!’