"Yes, I do."
"Then let me put it on. I'd like to see you wearing it."
"Oh, if you must," she said.
He took it from its place; his fingers were slow and clumsy, his face close to hers, and with the brooch pinned to her, she hated him more than she had done when he held Miriam in his mad arms.
"I've the ring in my pocket, too," he said. "Next week—Did you hear me? Sometimes—sometimes you look deaf."
"Yes, I did hear."
She shook herself and rose, but he caught a hand. "I want to take you right away. You look so tired."
"I am not tired."
"I shall take care of you."
The limp hand stiffened. "You know, don't you, that I'm not going to leave my stepmother? You are not thinking—?"