Ruth eyed it, her lips still steel-studded.
"How much?" she mumbled.
"Ten pound," he answered.
"That's not what I mean."
"What do you mean, then?"
"What's the price?"
He glared at her; then thumped the table with a great fist.
"Nothin then!" he shouted. "What doest' take me for?"
She munched her tin-tacks sardonically, regarding him.
How sturdy he was, with his close curly black hair, and on his face the set and resolute look of the man approaching middle-age, who knows that he wants and how to win it!