“So will I,” she answered.
She took the candle and went a little in front. He hurried into his coat and gathered his tools, anxious to get away. She faced him, holding the candle.
“Look at my hand,” she said, holding it out. It was smeared with blood, as was the cuff of her dress—a black-and-white striped cotton dress.
“Is it hurt?” he said.
“No, but look at it. Look here!” She showed the bloodstains on her dress.
“It’ll wash out,” he said, frightened of her.
“Yes, so it will. But for the present it’s there. Don’t you think you ought to thank me?”
He recoiled a little.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m very much obliged.”
“You ought to be more than that,” she said.