"I did not ask for too much, I think, and I could have forgiven and
forgotten all the hurts you have given me, if it were not for one thing.
You have been unjust, hard, selfish, and suspicious. Suspicious--of me!
No one else in all the world ever thought of me what you have thought. I
have done all I could. I have honourably kept the faith. But you have
spoiled it all. I have no memory that I care to keep. It is stained. My
eyes can never bear to look upon the past again, the past with
you--never."
She turned to leave the room. He caught her arm. "You will wait till you
hear what I have to say," he cried in anger. Her last words had stung him
so, her manner was so pitilessly scornful. It was as though she looked
down on him from a height. His old arrogance fought for mastery over his
apprehension. What did she know? What did she mean? In any case he must
face it out, be strong--and merciful and affectionate afterwards.
"Wait, Hylda," he said. "We must talk this out."
She freed her arm. "There is nothing to talk out," she answered.
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