Early the next morning after the child was born, Dumpling arrived with a blue paper bag full of groats for Ellen and a set of long petticoats for the baby. ‘I come the minute I see your card, bubeleh,’ she said to David. ‘Oy oy vhat a beauty! Such eyes, I tell you,’ and she quoted from the Talmud, ‘“The birth of a daughter is a blessing from the lord.” So vhat you call her?’
‘Grace,’ David told her. ‘Whatcher think?’
‘Tuesday’s child,’ Ellen explained, fondling her daughter’s dark head. ‘Tuesday’s child is full a’ grace.’
‘Very nice,’ Dumpling approved. To have named her after her grandmother would have been more diplomatic, but it was a pretty name. It suited her.
‘I’m off to work then,’ David said, kissing Ellen goodbye, ‘You got everything you need, nu?’
‘Me she got,’ Dumpling said happily, escorting him to the door. ‘Vhat more she vant?’
She was certainly a very good nurse and most attentive. When the midwife came for her morning visit she busied herself in the kitchen, and when the baby woke to be fed she cooked the groats for Ellen, ‘best thing in the vorld for making milk, bubeleh’, and at midday she scrambled eggs, ‘Liddle an’ tasty, ve build up your strength’, and when they’d eaten every mouthful she insisted that they should both take a ‘liddle nap’.
‘I shan’t sleep in the middle a’ the day,’ Ellen protested, but she put her head on the pillow just to satisfy Aunty Dumpling, who was nodding and smiling most persuasively. And woke two hours later, to find her sitting on the bed with the baby cradled in her capacious lap, silently crying tears of joy onto the little girl’s dark head.
‘Such a beauty, don’t I tell you,’ she said when she saw Ellen was awake. ‘So vhat your moder think of such a beauty? The proudest voman alive I bet, nu?’
‘Well …’ Ellen said, musing. Until that moment she’d always been very careful to avoid any mention of her family when she was with Aunty Dumpling. Now she decided to risk it. ‘To tell the truth, she don’t know yet. We’ve sent a card, same time as yours. On’y she’s gone ter live in Liverpool, you see.’
‘Oy oy oy!’ Aunty Dumpling said, taking Ellen’s hand at once and giving it a squeeze. ‘Such a sadness! All that vay avay! Never mind, bubeleh, she come down to see the baby, nu?’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘She don’t travel good?’
‘Ain’t got the money.’
Dumpling gave the hand another squeeze. ‘Never mind, bubeleh,’ she said, her face puckered with earnestness. ‘Ve make it up to you. You got Davey and me and Davey’s father. Plenty of family now, nu?’
‘Not Davey’s mother though,’ Ellen said greatly daring. ‘She don’t think much ‘a me an’ that’s a fact.’
‘Give her time, bubeleh,’ Dumpling advised. ‘Vait till she see this liddle precious.’
But this little precious had had enough of conversation and decided to give tongue for food. And it took a long time to satisfy her because she suddenly seemed to have acquired an appetite. And then her nappie had to be changed, so Dumpling was able to admire her dear little plump legs, and kiss her toes, and stroke her soft skin, before she was wrapped and bundled again.
‘The greatest sadness of my life I don’t have children,’ she confided, beaming at her new grandniece.
‘You should a’ married again,’ Ellen said, cuddling the baby into her neck.
‘Should, vould. It ain’t so easy. Good husband’s a rarity, I tell you. They don’t grow on trees, nu-nu.’
‘What about Mr Morrison?’ Ellen asked, surprised at how bold motherhood had made her.
‘It don’t enter his head, nebbish.’
‘P’rhaps it will,’ Ellen said smiling at her.
‘Pigs might fly,’ Dumpling said, but she sounded cheerful. ‘I just rinse this liddle nappie out, nu?’
That evening while Ellen was recounting all the day’s events and her daring conversation, Emmanuel and Rachel arrived to see their first grandchild. Emmanuel was delighted with her and said she was the prettiest baby he’d ever seen, even prettier than David, and he’d never thought such a thing was possible. But Rachel was quiet and watchful, saying very little and taking everything in, and she brought no welcoming gift, as Ellen was sensitively quick to notice.
When they’d gone she burst into tears and wept unconsolably for far too long. ‘She hates me,’ she cried. ‘The way she was lookin’ at us! An’ she never said nothink nice about our Gracie, d’yer notice? An’ I seen ’er at all the wrong time too. Stuck ’ere in bed an’ the place all any old how.’
‘It wasn’t any old how,’ he tried to comfort. ‘Dumpling had it all lovely.’
But she was beyond reason. ‘She hates me,’ she sobbed. ‘She’ll always hate me, Davey. She’s made up ’er mind to it, you can see. She was lookin’ me over all the time, lookin’ fer things ter criticize.’
‘She ain’t like that, bubeleh,’ he argued. ‘She’s a good woman. She’ll come round in time. You’ll see. She was just being quiet, that’s all. She’s a bit shy.’
He was wrong. Ellen had assessed her mother-in-law’s state of mind with almost total accuracy.
‘A pretty baby,’ Emmanuel tried, as they walked home together in the balmy evening. ‘There is truth in the saying, nu? A man should look on the birth of a daughter as a blessing from the Lord.’ He spoke in Yiddish, because he had a vague feeling that he would be more persuasive in that language.
‘The birth of a Jewish daughter, maybe,’ Rachel said. ‘But this is neither one thing nor the other, poor child. Half and half. An outcast, Emmanuel.’
‘Only if we make her an outcast, bubeleh.’
‘She is an outcast, Emmanuel. An outcast by birth, neither one thing nor the other.’ Her face was stiff with rejection and obduracy.
‘She is our David’s daughter,’ Emmanuel tried.
‘She is that woman’s daughter. That woman’s! Ai-yi! What a terrible waste!’
Fortunately little Grace Cheifitz couldn’t speak English or Yiddish yet, so she didn’t know what a terrible waste she was. She only knew, deep down in the most instinctive part of her nature, that she was a blessing and that she was loved. So she thrived. In six weeks she had lost the first fragility of the newborn and had grown prettily rounded and learned to smile. By six months she was a fine fat baby, with her mother’s dark curly hair and her father’s soft brown eyes, sitting in the high chair her grandfather had made for her, playing with the bricks her grandfather had made for her, and endlessly repeating her own happy songs. And Ellen was making plans for their very first Christmas together.
‘It ain’t religious,’ she explained when David scowled his doubt. ‘It’s a celebration, that’s all. A nice meal, chicken an’ things like that, an’ candles, like you ’ave at Shabbas, an’ givin’ presents. We put ’em in a stocking at the foot of the bed an’ say it’s Santa Claus.’ She’d never had a stocking at the foot of the bed in the whole of her supposedly Christian life, so that was all the more reason for her daughter to be given one.
‘Well …’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s all right, seein’ it’s for our Gracie.’ There were times when he felt he was slipping inexorably further and further away from the ways of his parents and their relations, and then he was torn, part of him wanting to welcome new ways, part of him clinging with a nostalgic desperation to the old.
This time he needn’t have worried, for Gracie’s little stocking was an enormous success, with its sugar mouse, and the woollen ball Ellen had made, and the monkey-on-a-stick he’d carved so carefully, and the dolly mixtures wrapped in silver paper, and the orange stuffed so neatly into its toe. They sat, still snuggled into the comfortable warmth of their double bed, and watched while their daughter discovered one present after the other, crowing with pleasure, and then they gave presents to one another and were delighted because they were so similar, a hairbrush for her and a shaving brush for him. And Christmas was everything she had always dreamed it could be. Even if the chicken did take a terribly long time to cook.
Dumpling was charmed when she heard how happy they’d been, but Rivke and Rachel took it as evidence of the most dangerous backsliding. ‘So vhat I tell you?’ Rivke demanded. ‘Begin vid strange vomen, end vid strange gods.’
‘Oy-oy! A present ain’t gods!’ Dumpling said.
But they only snorted.
It grieved Emmanuel that his wife was so unbending. As the months passed and Gracie learned to stand and toddle about he grew more and more fond of her, and wished with all his heart that Rachel would love her too. ‘She’s such a good little girl,’ he would urge, ‘and so loving.’ But he was wasting his breath. Her answer was always the same.
‘Good she may be, Jewish she ain’t.’
When June came round again and it was her first birthday he scraped and saved and connived until he had enough money to buy her a doll. Dumpling made it a full set of clothes, all beautifully embroidered, and the two of them delivered it together and were kissed and hugged and thanked until they were all quite breathless.
‘I vish my Rachel could’ve seen it,’ he mourned as he and Dumpling travelled home together.
‘A hard heart to melt,’ Dumpling agreed. ‘And that dear little soul so pretty and loving. Ai yi!’
The hard heart still hadn’t melted when the child’s second birthday came round.
‘I don’t reckon we’ll ever please your ma,’ Ellen sighed, as she tucked the covers round their sleeping daughter at the end of her special day.
‘Never mind,’ David said, putting his arms round her and turning her towards him. ‘You please me. You both please me.’ And his eyes were saying, especially you, and especially now. She was looking quite delectably pretty, with her cheeks so rounded and her eyes shining and that full mouth ever so slightly parted, and love stirring so magically in both of them. ‘Beautiful Ellen.’
She kissed him lingeringly. Their eyes were so close there was no room for secrets. ‘Guess what,’ she said.
‘Urn,’ he said when they’d kissed again. ‘I thought yer might be.’ Her breasts were so full and welcoming.
‘December,’ she told him, holding him about the waist and drawing him closer and closer towards her. And then words were superfluous.
They decided to keep their precious secret for as long as they could. ‘Time enough when I begin ter show,’ Ellen said. And this time they avoided the subject of the brit altogether. Time enough for that when the baby was born. They were far more mature now, David thought, three years married and with a daughter to care for. They’d find an answer. At the right time. He was sure.
So they went on hugging their secret and enjoying their daughter, living at their own rate in their little kingdom above the goods yard. Now that Gracie was beginning to babble into speech there was so much to say. ‘Choo-choo, Mummy,’ she would call, and the two of them would stand by the window and watch the great engines juddering past. ‘Balk?’ she would ask, looking hopefully at her bonnet hanging on the door, and then they would go out into the sunshine to the sour smell of the breweries and ammoniac horse buses and the oily reek of the new motor cars, and walk down to Spitalfields Market to buy themselves some fruit or, even better take a tram to the Embankment or the fine green parks of the West End. It was a gentle life and a private one and it suited them all so well they almost forgot about friends and relations.
So it came as quite a surprise when Hymie arrived one evening, blushing with embarrassment, to tell them that he was going to be married and to invite them to the wedding.
‘Mazel tov!’ David said, thumping his old friend on the back and dragging him into the kitchen. ‘So what’s she like? Where d’you find her?’
At that Hymie blushed more furiously. ‘The mothers arranged it,’ he confessed. ‘She ain’t a looker an’ that’s a fact. She’s … well … she’s haimish, ter tell the truth.’
‘What’s haimish?’ Ellen laughed.
‘Well …’ Hymie hesitated again. ‘Hideous really.’
‘Oh she ain’t,’ Ellen teased.
‘Haimish is homely, not much ter look at, nice enough,’ David translated.
And at that she laughed again. ‘How d’yer meet her?’
‘I told yer,’ Hymie confessed uncomfortably. ‘It’s arranged. I ain’t met her yet, ter tell the truth. I seen her picture.’
They were horrified. ‘Oy oy, Hymie!’ David said. ‘You can’t marry a woman you don’t even know. That’s downright primitive.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Hymie said sheepishly. ‘I don’t reckon I’d ever get a wife on me own, not with my looks. We shall do well enough fer each other I daresay. She cooks good, keeps house good, all that sort a’ thing.’
Ellen looked at him with open-mouthed wonder. But you got to go to bed together, she was thinking. How could you do that with someone you didn’t even know? The idea was obscene.
‘Say no,’ David urged. ‘Wait till you find someone to love. It’s much the best way, honest. You might take a lot a’ stick ter start with but it sorts itself out in the end. Ain’t that right, Ellen?’
It wasn’t quite right but she said yes, for Hymie’s benefit.
‘We shall get ter love each other after the weddin’,’ Hymie hoped. ‘Anyway I can’t say no now. It’s all arranged. I’ve brought yer invite. End of October, see.’
‘I shall be a fair ol’ size be then,’ Ellen said, looking at the date. So of course Hymie had to be told their news, and it was his turn to offer congratulations. And be sworn to temporary secrecy.
‘You’ll come to me weddin’ though, wontcher?’ he said, and his ugly face was anxious.
He needs support, David thought. Poor old Hymie. He’s putting on a brave show, but he’s nervous and he’s worried. ‘We’ll be there,’ he promised. And Ellen propped the invitation on the mantelpiece and gave him a kiss. ‘I shall wear me best hat,’ she said, ‘’cos nothink else’ll fit.’
‘I’d never a’ thought it of old Hymie,’ David said when his friend had gone striding off to deliver the rest of his invitations. ‘I always thought he’d be modern like me.’
‘It gives me the willies,’ Ellen said. ‘Fancy goin’ ter bed with someone you don’t even know. It’s horrible.’
‘It’s Jewish.’
‘Well, I don’t think much of it.’
‘Was that what they was goin’ ter do ter you?’
‘I expect so.’
‘Aintcher glad they never?’
‘Don’t ask soppy questions,’ he said joyfully, prepared to answer her with action.
‘I never been to a Jewish wedding,’ she said, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘What’s it like?’
A sudden chill of sadness checked his ardour for a few seconds. Oh, if only she could have been to their own Jewish wedding, accepted from the word go! What a difference that would have made! But then she was cuddling against his chest and his body was aware of her again, and silencing his mind. ‘It’s a weddin’,’ he said. ‘Same as all the others. Why are we still in the kitchen?’
But it wasn’t a wedding the same as all the others. For Ellen it was a ceremony unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
For a start she was very put out to discover that she and Gracie were relegated to the balcony with all the other women, and that it was only the men and the bride who were allowed down into the body of the synagogue. ‘I shan’t know nobody up ’ere,’ she whispered furiously, mindful of the sharp ears all around her. ‘I wouldn’t a’ come if I’d known.’
‘I’ll look up an’ wave,’ he promised. ‘It’s all watchin’ anyway, wherever you are. You got a good view up ’ere.’
‘Hum!’ she said crossly. ‘I don’t think much of it, an’ that’s a fact.’ But she gave him a smile as he left her, because she didn’t like to see him looking upset.
‘Daddy gorn,’ Gracie said, catching their emotion and bewildered by it.
‘No ’e ain’t,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘There ’e is. See? Down there under that cover with yer Uncle Hymie.’
It was a splendid canopy, all red and gold embroidery and fringed with heavy gold tassles. Hymie looked uglier than usual standing underneath such opulence, especially as they’d made him wear a long white shirt instead of a coat. It’s more like a shroud than a garment, she thought. They’re a funny lot these Jews. Fancy getting married in a shroud.
But then the bride was making her entrance and she forgot about the vagaries of the Jewish race and leaned forward to catch her first glimpse of Hymie’s intended. She was certainly very fat, even if you allowed for the yards of material in her white dress, but her face was covered with such a thick veil that only the bump of her nose could be seen through the cloth. Everybody in the synagogue was singing some Jewish song very loudly, and the Rabbi had joined all the young men under the canopy, resplendent in a long black coat and a huge hat trimmed with brown fur. She watched as he unfurled the scroll of parchment he carried and the service began.
It was all in Yiddish. What a sell! She couldn’t understand a word of it. But she recognized the moment when Hymie put the ring on his wife’s finger and then at last the veil was lifted and they could all see the bride’s face. And she was hideous. Poor Hymie. She had a broad squashed face, like a pug, with a stubby nose, and small eyes and a mouth that was downturned with discontent, even at this moment when it ought to have been looking happy. Poor old Hymie!
While she was still feeling sorry for him, one of his friends put a wine glass on the floor at his feet and he smashed it to bits with the heel of his shoe, and they all yelled ‘Mazel tov!’ as though he’d done something clever. They really are the most peculiar lot, she thought, as the Rabbi started another chant. Oh ’e’s off again. Wonder what David’s thinking about. He looks very soulful.
David was listening to the words and envying his friend. For they had reached the moment of the seven benedictions, when the words brought all their hopes of happiness into passionate focus. ‘Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who hast created joy and gladness, bridegroom and bride, mirth and exultation, pleasure and delight …’ And he felt the surge of support for Hymie all around them, the full loving power of their tight-knit tribe, and he regretted his own exclusion from it. This was what he should have been given on his own wedding day, love and support and approval. And he knew, as he stood beside his friend, enriched by the emotion of this most Jewish of all Jewish occasions, that if his second child was a boy he ought to have his brit. I’ll bring him to the synagogue when he’s eight days old, he thought, and he can be circumcized and entered into the Covenant of Abraham along with all his relations. Nothing less would do.
Jack Cheifitz was born on 15 December. He was a fine fat baby, every bit as pretty as his sister had been, with the same dark blue eyes and the same thick hair. But undeniably male.
Now, David thought, looking into his son’s trusting eyes for the very first time, now we shall have to decide. But there were still eight days for them to make up their minds and arrange the ceremony. Nothing need be said just yet.
Aunty Dumpling appointed herself nurse again, and Gracie was her helper in her own nurse’s cap and a miniature white apron specially made for the occasion. ‘You go ter work, Pa,’ she said, ‘an’ me an’ Aunty Dump’in’ll look after Ma, nu?’ And that little, expressive, overworked Yiddish word caught at his heart and made him more determined than ever that both his children should be accepted by his tribe.
But he said nothing until a week had passed and he was quite sure Ellen was recovering and the new baby was settled. This was a delicate subject and had to be approached with care.
It wasn’t until late on Friday evening, when Aunty Dumpling had gone home for Shabbas and Gracie was curled up in her little cot fast asleep and the baby was dozing in Ellen’s arms after his late-night feed, that a moment presented itself.
‘Mrs Mullins says I shall be up an’ about in nice time fer Christmas,’ Ellen said. ‘Whatcher think a’ that?’ It had been one of her major concerns that she might still be lying-in when Christmas Day arrived.
‘That’s good,’ he said, stroking the baby’s head with his forefinger. ‘We got another special day to look forward to an’ all.’
‘What’s that?’ she said, but apprehension was already tightening her throat as she spoke.
‘The brit,’ he said, not looking up at her yet. But hoping.
She could feel her heart sinking through her chest into her belly. ‘Oh not that again, Davey, please!’ she said. ‘We been through all that. We decided.’
‘No,’ he said, quiet but determined. ‘We deferred, bubeleh. Tha’s all we done. We deferred.’
He looked so handsome and she loved him so much, with their two pretty babies sleeping beside them. It was going to be very difficult to deny him but it had to be done. ‘It’s all superstitious nonsense,’ she said. ‘Out a’ date. Like poor old Hymie’s marriage. You said so yerself.’
‘No,’ he argued calmly. ‘It ain’t the same. This is the way all Jewish boys are accepted. They enter the Covenant of Abraham. They belong. Dontcher want our Jack ter belong?’
‘’E belongs to us,’ she said stoutly as she settled the sleeping infant into his crib. ‘That’s enough fer me.’
‘But he’s Jewish.’
‘Half Jewish.’ And she tried a joke to lessen the tension that was building up between them. ‘You can ’ave the top half.’
He sighed profoundly, upset by a joke at such a time. ‘We can’t leave him out in the cold,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t want that, surely ter goodness?’
‘’E’s here, in the warm, with me,’ she said, still trying to laugh him out of it. ‘You do talk tripe. Out in the cold!’
‘It’s got ter be done, Ellen.’
‘No it ain’t,’ she said, turning from the crib to face him, suddenly fierce. ‘I told yer before. Nobody ain’t choppin’ bits off a’ my baby.’
He stood up and went to stand beside the window, parting the curtains with both hands and looking down into the snowy garden beneath them. ‘It’s fixed,’ he said. ‘I’ve fixed it, Ellen. I’ve seen the mohel. It’s got ter be done.’ His spine was rigid with determination, his jaw implacable.
She was out of the bed and across the room and standing beside him before he realized she’d moved. It surprised them both, for she wasn’t supposed to get out of bed until her lying-in was over, and the speed of her movement drained all the colour from her face and made her feel frighteningly dizzy. She hung onto the curtains to steady herself, then the blood returned to her cheeks and her face blazed with protective fury.
‘I love you more’n anything in the world,’ she said, ‘except my babies. Nobody ain’t doin’ nothing to my babies. I don’t care who it is or what it’s for. Not even you. Nobody.’
‘They’re my babies too,’ he said stiffly, feeling the angry colour flooding his own cheeks. He knew she was running risks getting out of bed and into the cold air, but the brit was so important it even blotted out his concern. He had to make a stand now, or his son would be ostracized. Why couldn’t she see it?
‘You never carried ’em, an’ you never birthed ’em,’ she said. ‘That’s what counts when it comes to ‘aving bits cut off of ’em.’ The determined fury on her face was so daunting he had to drop his eyes. ‘I won’t allow it, an’ that’s all there is to it. If that mogul comes anywhere near my little Jack, I shall take his stinkin’ scissors and carve a great lump out ‘a him, so help me God. An’ then I’ll pack me bag an’ take me babies an’ go off somewhere you’ll never see me again.’ She was panting with anger and exhaustion.
‘You don’t mean that,’ he said aghast. ‘You wouldn’t leave me. That’s just talk.’ But it frightened him and his eyes showed it ‘Where would yer go?’
‘Anywhere,’ she said wildly. ‘Liverpool with me Ma.’
Anger made him scathing. ‘An’ where would yer get the fare?’ It was a cruel thing to say, and when she winced he felt ashamed. But only momentarily.
‘I’d walk,’ she said. ‘I’d walk every inch a’ the way. You ain’t touchin’ my baby.’ She knew she was losing blood. She could feel it trickling down her leg. But although the knowledge frightened her so much it made her shake, she went on fighting. They stood within inches of each other, red-faced and panting.
‘I’ll never give in,’ she said, glaring at him.
‘It’s got ter be done,’ he answered.
‘Just try! That’s all! I’ve warned yer!’
The tremor in her legs was making her nightgown flutter, and the movement flicked a splinter of anxiety into his mind and he knew he was afraid for her. ‘Come back to bed,’ he said. ‘You’ll make yourself ill.’
She clung to the curtains like a lifeline. ‘Not till you agree ’e ain’t to be cut.’
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrer.’
‘No, now!’ We got ter decide it now, she thought. I couldn’t fight like this again. She gathered all that was left of her trembling strength. ‘You’d better make yer mind up,’ she said. ‘Either you say ‘e’s to ’ave this brit or ’e ain’t. If you insist ‘e’s to ’ave it, I’ll leave yer, an’ I’ll take ’em both with me. I mean it. So, what’s more important to you, ‘avin’ the brit or stayin’ with me?’ Her eyes were challenging him, and although she was trembling, there was no weakness about her anywhere.
She’ll do it, he thought. She really will. And it seemed to him that this wild-eyed woman standing beside him in their familiar room was a sudden stranger to him, the weight of her determination equalling his. There was no way he could persuade her. She would leave him. And even with anger blocking off every other emotion he knew he couldn’t bear that.
‘Well?’ she said.
He knew the answer but it was several seconds before he could bring himself to give it. ‘Stayin’ with you,’ he admitted, and he looked away from her, sighing miserably, because he knew he was defeated.
She gave a little sobbing sigh and he could feel her drooping away from him, her body folding towards the floor, and he turned quickly and caught her as she fell. Her face was pale as paper and there were mauve shadows under her closed eyes. ‘Ellen!’ he said. ‘Ellen bubeleh!’ his chest torn with remorse. What had he done to her? Why had he fought her, now, so soon after the baby?
To his great relief she was struggling back to consciousness as he set her down in the bed and wrapped her in the blankets and cuddled her cold body close against his warm one. And she clung to him and shivered and cried, and told him over and over again how sorry she was but how she had to do it. And he smoothed her hair and told her over and over again that he loved her more than anything in the world, and he wouldn’t have hurt her for anything, only the brit was so important.
And finally when they had cried their way back together, she tried to find some words to comfort him. ‘It’s who ’e is what counts,’ she said, ‘not what they done to ‘im.’
And he tried to agree with her. But what should have been done to this child was so important. If only she could understand it. Halevai!
So the brit was cancelled, ‘for the time being’, and Jack was allowed to grow uncircumcized. And they both pretended that the topic was forgotten.
But from time to time in the months that followed it returned to plague them. He would try to explain the religious significance, stressing how quickly and easily the thing could be done, providing the child was young enough. Or he would talk vaguely about everybody’s need to belong, and touch on the special needs of Jews who were strangers wherever they lived. And she would ignore him, or change the subject, or argue it out all over again, in the same words and with the same demoralizing conclusion. It was a thorn of discord that neither could dislodge, and as winter gradually gave way to a reluctant spring, the pain it caused intensified.
But by the end of May, something happened that stopped all argument. Infant cholera came to Whitechapel.