He had been playing with her. She had lost
her home because of him, had been beaten almost insensible, had been
ill for weeks, and now he had driven away, without even looking back.
She jerked her blouse off, still standing by the window, and when
the sleeve caught on her watch, she jerked that off, too. She stood
for a moment with it in her hand, her face twisted with shame and
anger. Then recklessly and furiously she flung it through the open
window.
In the stillness of the street far below she heard it strike and
rebound.
"That for him!" she muttered.
Almost immediately she wanted it again. He had given it to her.
It was all she had left now, and in a curious way it had, through
long wearing, come to mean Graham to her. She leaned out of the
window. She thought she saw it gleaming in the gutter, and already,
attracted by the crash, a man was crossing the street to where it
lay.
"You let that alone," she called down desperately. The figure was
already stooping over it.
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