'Choose your girl, Coddy. You've got to choose her now. And you'll get
your neck broken if you play any more of your tricks, my boy. You're
settled now.'

There was a pause. Again he averted his face. He was cunning in his
overthrow. He did not give in to them really--no, not if they tore him to
bits.

'All right, then,' he said, 'I choose Annie.' His voice was strange and
full of malice. Annie let go of him as if he had been a hot coal.

'He's chosen Annie!' said the girls in chorus.

'Me!' cried Annie. She was still kneeling, but away from him. He was
still lying prostrate, with averted face. The girls grouped uneasily
around.

'Me!' repeated Annie, with a terrible bitter accent.

Then she got up, drawing away from him with strange disgust and
bitterness.

'I wouldn't touch him,' she said.

But her face quivered with a kind of agony, she seemed as if she would
fall. The other girls turned aside. He remained lying on the floor, with
his torn clothes and bleeding, averted face.

'Oh, if he's chosen--' said Polly.