She spoke as if she scarcely knew the words she uttered, and not, he saw, in the least as if she were defending herself--or as if she cared whether he believed her or not--or as if it mattered.
"Did you--think we were--not married ?" the words dragged out.
Something turned over in his side.

He had heard it said that hearts did such things.

It turned--because she did not care.

She knew what love and death were--what they _were_--not merely what they were called--and life and shame and loss meant nothing.
"Do you know what you are saying ?" he heard the harshness of his voice break.

"For God's sake, child, let me hear the truth." She did not even care then and only put her childish elbows on her knees and her face in her hands and wept and wept.
"There was--no time," she said.