"Oh, I say, Flossie—"
"I'm orf'ly sorry." Her mouth dropped, not unbecomingly; her eyes were so liquid that he could have sworn they had tears in them. She looked more than ever like an unhappy child, standing beside him in her long straight overall. "And I wouldn't let anybody look at them but me."
"Why wouldn't you? I've asked you that before, Flossie—why wouldn't you?" He took the book and its mutilated fragment from her, and held both her hands in his.
"Because I knew you were fond enough of them."
"And is there anything I wasn't fond enough of—do you think?"
"I don't think; I know."
"No, you know nothing, you know nothing at all about anything. What did you think?"
"I thought you hated me."
"Hated you?"
"Yes. Hated me like poison."