And as he watched her he remembered how he had quarreled with her in
that room last night. And the thought of his brutality was intolerable
to him.
His heart ached with tenderness, and his tenderness was intolerable
too.
The small white face with its suffering eyes and drooping eyelids, the
drooping breasts, the thin white arms slackened along the couch, the
childlike helplessness of the tired body moved him with a vehement
desire. And his strength that had withstood her in her swift, defiant
beauty melted away.
"Steven--"
"Don't speak," he said.
She was quiet for a moment.
"But I want to, Steven. I want to say something."
He sighed.
"Well--say it."
"It's something I want to ask you."
"Don't ask impossibilities."
"I don't think it's impossible. At least it wouldn't be if you really
knew. I want you to be more careful with me."
She paused.
He turned from her abruptly.
His turning made it easier for her. She went on.
"It's only a little thing--a silly little thing. I want you, when
you're angry with me, not to show it quite so much."
He had turned again to her suddenly. The look on his face stopped her.
"I'm never angry with you," he said.
"I know you aren't--really. I know. I know. But you make me think you
are; and it hurts so terribly."
"I didn't know you minded."
"I don't always mind. But sometimes, when I'm stupid, I simply can't
bear it. It makes me feel as if I'd done something.
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