Certainty is dreadful enough, but it's better than the awful
suspense of knowing you are somewhere in the world, and are sure to come
back sometime----"
"But I don't want to come back!" he exclaimed indignantly. "Why should I
wish to come back? Have I said--acted--done--looked--_Why_ should you
imagine that I have the slightest interest in anything or in--in--anybody
in this house?"
"Haven't you?"
"No!... And I cannot ignore your--your amazing--and intensely
f-flattering fear that I have d-designs--that I desire--in other words,
that I--er--have dared to cherish impossible aspirations in connection
with a futile and absurd hope that one day you might possibly be induced
to listen to any tentative suggestion of mine concerning a matrimonial
alliance----"
He choked and turned a dull red.
She reddened, too, but said calmly:
"Thank you for putting it so nicely. But it is no use. Sooner or later
you and I will be obliged to consider a situation too hopeless to admit
of discussion."
"What situation?"
"Ours."
"I can't see any situation--except your being glued--I _beg_ your
pardon!--but I must speak truthfully."
"So must I. Our case is too desperate for anything but plain and terrible
truths. And the truths are these: _I_ touched the forbidden machine and
got a spark; your name is George; _I'm_ glued here, unable to escape;
_you_ are not rude enough to go when I ask you not to.
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