And he repeated with a cruelly deliberate emphasis:
“You don’t really love Jimmy.”
Her white face was suddenly flooded with red, which even covered her forehead to the roots of her hair. She put up one hand with violence and tried to strike Dion on the mouth. He caught her wrist.
“Be quiet!” he said roughly.
Gripping her wrist with his hard, muscular brown fingers he repeated:
“You don’t love Jimmy.”
“Do you wish me to hate you?”
“I don’t care. I don’t care what happens to me.”
She sat looking down. The red began to fade out of her face. Presently she curled her fingers inwards against his palm and smiled faintly.
“I am not going to quarrel with you,” she said quietly.