"Here! Can't you see it? It's as plain as the nose on your face. Along the arm. It's a cut. Right into the canvas. You can run your finger in it. Give me your hand."
She shrank back from him.
"No—no, Ernest."
He stared at her intently.
"You do look seedy. You'd better go up and lie down. I've got to dress for dinner, anyway. We'll have to have this fixed."
He started for the door.
She blocked his way.
"Will—you—let—me—go, Ernest?"
"Don't start that again."
"All right. I won't!"