"Aren't you happy? That it?"
"Yes."
"You aren't happy?"
"No."
"Harold?"
"Yes."
On the fender she beat out her thoughts.
"All the things she wants to say and is too proud," he said to himself as he watched the tapping of her dainty toe. That was precisely what he was meant to think.
"What's he done?" he asked.
"Tisn't what he's done—I don't think he's done anything."