All I had to do was to look at him in profile to see the
side of him that was really mine. At first I kept thinking of the
dreadful other side--but gradually the impression faded, and I kept
my mind turned from it, as one does from a deformity in a face one
loves. I thought I had made my last compromise with life--had hit on
a _modus vivendi_ that would last my time.
"And then he met you. I had always been prepared for his marrying,
but not a girl like you. I thought he would choose a sweet thing who
would never pry into his closets--he hated women with ideas! But as
soon as I saw you I knew the struggle would have to begin again. He
is so much stronger than his father--he is full of the most
monstrous convictions. And he has the courage of them, too--you saw
last year that his love for you never made him waver. He believes in
his work; he adores it--it is a kind of hideous idol to which he
would make human sacrifices! He loves you still--I've been honest
with you--but his love wouldn't change him. It is you who would have
to change--to die gradually, as I have died, till there is only one
live point left in me. Ah, if one died completely--that's simple
enough! But something persists--remember that--a single point, an
aching nerve of truth. Now and then you may drug it--but a touch
wakes it again, as your face has waked it in me. There's always
enough of one's old self left to suffer with...."
She stood up and faced the girl abruptly. "What shall I tell Alan?"
she said.
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