“I don’t care a rap for remembering. He laughed to hide his uneasiness. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. He did not even reply to her for several minutes. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. Pancras,” she directed, promptly. Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming.
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