“Look here, Renny. D’you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Heh!” She gave a snarl of incredulity. “Heh! See here! D’you want me!”
Her eyes were staring at him cunningly, invitingly. He saw that she half believed his weakness would lead him to evasion or consent to her will. He waited, and made her repeat her question.
“D’you want me?”
“I want your happiness,” he said. “I don’t believe you will find it in me.”
She was inarticulate. Her eyes closed and she swayed. She jerked her head toward the door. He took that for a sign that he was to go, and moved round the table. She was before him, crouching, barring the way. Strangled sobbing sounds came from her throat. He stretched out his hands to implore her, to tell her of his almost intolerable pity. She sprang at him. She had a knife in her hand. He saw it flash, felt a burning pain in his breast, and fell. He could see her face twisted in an agony of fear close to his. Spittle from her lips fell upon his cheek. Her hands were busy at his breast. He lost consciousness.
[V
THRIGSBY]
Nothing I’ll bear from thee