"What makes you think that?" she asked.
"The ring on the finger."
"But that's not the right finger."
"Isn't it?"
"No. My grandmother gave me that."
He held her eyes—forced her to see the comprehension in his.
"Then you won't help me?" he said.
"Help you? How?"
"You don't want to tell me anything about yourself?"
"But I have nothing to tell. I'm a very uninteresting person, I'm afraid."