He rose suddenly, fighting down a sob, overcome by remorse.
“Good God, where have I dragged you?”
She came to him swiftly and seized his hands with an imperious gesture.
“What do you think I care about that?” she said, with such anger that it shocked him into attention. “To make a man out of you, I’d go through anything—anything, do you hear!”
He searched in his pockets at a sudden remembrance, found the bottle he had bought at the druggist’s the night before, and looked up at her.
“Then why didn’t you take this?” he said curtly.
“What good would that have done?” she said impatiently.
He stared at her a moment and, with a gesture of contempt, flung the bottle against the floor, where it crashed to pieces.
She swayed with a cry of joy and clung to him, her head pressed against his shoulder, as though a sea of perils had returned him safely.
“Why the devil should you care what happens to an old derelict, you queer little creature?” he said slowly, surprised at the trembling in her body.