"Try and stop me," she said.  She would love to have an excuse to hurt him.  She'd curse him and curse him and curse him until he couldn't breathe, until flocks of birds pecked his eyes out, until he felt as bereft and lost and hopeless as she did.  She'd give him pain, and misery, and the knowledge that he'd been used by someone he'd been enough of a fool to love.  She couldn't believe she'd loved him.  At least, last sop to pride, she hadn't told him.  At least she had that.