"So you heard Taggart talking to me?" she mocked, mirth in her eyes.
"And you shot at him? Is that it? Well, what of it? I do not have to
account to you for my actions!"
He laughed. "Nothin' of it, I reckon. But if you're stuck on him, why
don't you come out in the open, instead of sneakin' around? You made it
pretty strong the day I smashed his face for talkin' about you. I reckon
he had some grounds."
He was talking now to hurt her; there was a savage desire in his heart to
goad her to anger.
But he did not succeed. Her face paled a little at his brutal words, at
the insult they implied, and she became a little rigid, her lips
stiffening. But suddenly she smiled, mockingly, with irritating
unconcern.
"If I didn't know that you hate me as you do I should be inclined to
think that you are jealous. Are you?"
He straightened in astonishment. Her manner was not that of the woman
who is caught doing something dishonorable; it was the calm poise of
sturdy honesty at bay. But while he was mystified, he was not convinced.
She had hit the mark, he knew, but he laughed harshly.
"Jealous!" he said; "jealous of you? I reckon you've got a good opinion
of yourself! You make me sick. I just want to put you wise a few. You
don't need to try to pull off any of that sweet innocence stuff on me any
more.
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