"I've broken your back," she said.
An unwonted resolution came into her face. Her lips whitened. "Don't you know, Rag," she said, forcing herself to speak——"Don't you guess? You don't know half! In that bureau there——In there! It's stuffed with bills. Unpaid bills."
She was weeping, with no attempt to wipe the streaming tears away; terror made the expression of her wet face almost fierce. "Bills," she repeated. "More than a hundred pounds still. Yes! Now. Now!"
He drew back, stared at her and with no trace of personal animus, like one who hears of a common disaster, remarked with a quiet emphasis: "Oh, damn!"
"I know," she said, "Damn!" and met his eyes. There was a long silence between them. She produced a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "That's what I amount to," she said.
"It's your silly upbringing," he said after a long pause.
"And my silly self."
She stood up, unlocked and opened her littered desk, turned and held out the key to him.
"Why?" he asked.
"Take it. You gave me a cheque-book of my own and a corner of my own, and they—they are just ambushes—against you."