"What's that on your arm?" she asked.
"The marks of your nails."
He showed her the bleeding scratches.
"Do they hurt?"
She felt sorry, and stroked the arm with her hand.
"It was your fault—only yours, wasn't it?" she continued. "You made me come. I didn't want to——"
Then, smiling:
"It was perhaps a way to get rid of me?"
A shudder ran through her:
"What a horrible death! The water is so bitter!"