"Yes. He was cruel." Her voice sounded flat and hard, without feeling.
She had no feeling; she had exhausted all the emotions of her suffering.
And her knowledge of his cruelty was absolute. To McClane's assertion of
the fact she had no response beyond that toneless acquiescence.
"Taking you into that shed—"
He had roused her.
"How on earth did you know that? I've never told a single soul."
"It was known in the hospital. One of the carpenters saw the whole thing.
He told one of our orderlies who told my chauffeur Gurney who told me."
"It doesn't matter what he did to me. I can't get over his not caring for the wounded."
"He was jealous of them, because you cared for them."
"Oh no. He'd left off caring for me by then."
"Had he?" He gave a little soft, wise laugh. "What makes you think so?"
"That. His cruelty."