When she took an afternoon nap, she was tigerish: “You sons of a vagina!” she would snarl, “you won’t even let me rest for a moment, sons of a fiend! Come here sons of a beast! If I get you I’ll lame you! I’ll maim you! …Sons of a louse! You feed on the flesh that breeds you! Make a noise again when I sleep and I’ll thrash you till you howl like a dog! You irresponsible nitwits! how will I play the numbers If I don’t get a good dream? How will I feed you, sons of a lowbred?