“No,” she cried, “you haven’t a spark. And so you can go your way, and I’ll go mine. It’s no good, not the slightest. So you can leave me now, I don’t want to go any further with you—leave me—”
“You don’t even know where you are,” he said.
“Oh, don’t bother, I assure you I shall be all right. I’ve got ten shillings in my purse, and that will take me back from anywhere you have brought me to.” She hesitated. The rings were still on her fingers, two on her little finger, one on her ring finger. Still she hesitated.
“Very good,” he said. “The only hopeless thing is a fool.”
“You are quite right,” she said.
Still she hesitated. Then an ugly, malevolent look came over her face, she pulled the rings from her fingers, and tossed them at him. One touched his face, the others hit his coat, and they scattered into the mud.
“And take your rings,” she said, “and go and buy