"Perhaps it may have been just the sewing that made him good enough to die," May said, laughingly, determined not to lose her temper or show Philip that he annoyed her.
"I brought over some cigarettes," said Philip, with sudden change of base. "I'll bet you don't dare to smoke one."
"I dare to but I don't want to. Nasty things!"
"You needn't pretend that you think they're nasty; you're afraid to take even a whiff."
"I'd be ashamed to take a whiff."
"Why don't you own up that you're a sissy and are afraid it will make you sick?"
May did not reply. "He isn't worth answering," she thought. "I wish I wasn't a girl—or if Gay were here, he'd give it to him!"
"I'm going to smoke one. And you've got to, whether you want to or not." Here Philip thrust a cigarette and a match into May's hand. "Now light it," he added.
May's reply was to tear the cigarette to pieces and to put the match in her blouse pocket.
"Will you light this one?" Philip cried, angrily, pressing a second cigarette into May's hand.