It was true, and he knew it. In his heart he cursed her, while he vainly sought some weapon that would strike home through her impervious armor.
“Y’u love him. I’ll remember that when I see him kick,” he taunted.
“I make you a present of the information. I love him, and I despise you. Nothing can change those facts,” she retorted whitely.
“Mebbe, but some day y’u’ll crawl on your knees to beg my pardon for having told me so.”
“There is your overweening vanity again,” she commented.
“I’m going to break y’u, my beauty, so that y’u’ll come running when I snap my fingers.”
“We’ll see.”
“And in the meantime I’ll go hang your lover.” He bowed ironically, swung on his jingling heel, and strode out of the room.
She stood there listening to his dying footfalls, then covered her face with her hands, as if to press back the dreadful vision her mind conjured.