That is impossible!"
"Impossible!"
"Think! I can't do my own hair! Do you mean you will get me a maid?"
"Good God!" I cried, disconcerted beyond measure, "won't you learn to do
your own hair for me? Do you mean to say you can love a man--"
She flung out her hands at me. "Don't spoil it," she cried. "I have
given you all I have, I have given you all I can. If I could do it, if
I was good enough to do it, I would. But I am a woman spoilt and
ruined, dear, and you are a ruined man. When we are making love we're
lovers--but think of the gulf between us in habits and ways of thought,
in will and training, when we are not making love. Think of it--and
don't think of it! Don't think of it yet. We have snatched some hours.
We still may have some hours!"
She suddenly knelt forward toward me, with a glowing darkness in her
eyes. "Who cares if it upsets?" she cried. "If you say another word I
will kiss you. And go to the bottom clutching you.
"I'm not afraid of that. I'm not a bit afraid of that. I'll die with you.
Choose a death, and I'll die with you--readily.
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