“That is the awful thought.”
“I did it for your sake.”
“I know. It gives me a horrible sense of guilt.” She shuddered again. Then suddenly, with the nervous quickness of a woman unstrung, thrust a small black golliwog into his hand. “Take it!”
“What’s this?”
“You bought it for me yesterday at the barber’s shop. It is the only present which you have given me. Take it back.”
“I don’t want it. I shouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“You must take it,” she said in a low voice. “It is a symbol.”
“A what?”
“A symbol of our broken love.”
“I don’t see how you make that out. It’s a golliwog.”