"I say you're not sorry. You're glad. You're glad, just like anybody
else might be. _I_ don't blame you."
She shot these words at him like bullets, with a disturbing display of
passionate resentment. He opened his lips to speak, and thinking better
of it, or else not thinking at all in his astonishment, gaped witlessly,
wholly incapable of conceiving what had got into the girl.
With a flush of scornful satisfaction her eyes remarked these evidences,
so easily to be misinterpreted; then quickly she lowered her head and
turned away, leaning against the table, her back to the light and face
in shadow.
"_I_ don't blame you," she repeated in a sullen murmur.