"You know that I cannot wish to be engaged to him or to
any other man. You know, better almost than I can know myself, how my
heart stands. There has, at any rate, been no hypocrisy with me in regard
to you. Everything has been told to you--at what cost I will not now say.
The honest woman, I fear, fares worse even than the honest man of whom you
spoke. I think you admitted that he would be appreciated at last. She to
her dying day must pay the penalty of her transgressions. Honesty in a
woman the world never forgives." When she had done speaking, he sat silent
by her bedside, but, almost unconsciously, he stretched out his left hand
and took her right hand in his. For a few seconds she admitted this, and
she lay there with their hands clasped. Then with a start she drew back
her arm, and retreated as it were from his touch. "How dare you," said
she, "press my hand when you know that such pressure from you is
treacherous and damnable?"
"Damnable, Lizzie!"
"Yes--damnable. I will not pick my words for you. Coming from you, what
does such pressure mean?"
"Affection."
"Yes--and of what sort? You are wicked enough to feed my love by such
tokens, when you know that you do not mean to return it.
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