“I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. “John,” she said, “I can spare you that question. God, Lucy, that’s the stuff people wear to Phys. Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself.
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