Yet, should you be sincere, then--listen well
to me--I would never forgive you. I would visit your grave every
day to curse you for an evil thing."
"Evil thing," she echoed softly.
"Would you prefer to be a sham--that one could forget?"
"You will never forget me," she said in the same tone at the
glowing embers. "Evil or good. But, my dear, I feel neither an
evil nor a sham. I have got to be what I am, and that, amigo, is
not so easy; because I may be simple, but like all those on whom
there is no peace I am not One. No, I am not One!"
"You are all the women in the world," I whispered bending over her.
She didn't seem to be aware of anything and only spoke--always to
the glow.
"If I were that I would say: God help them then. But that would
be more appropriate for Therese. For me, I can only give them my
infinite compassion. I have too much reverence in me to invoke the
name of a God of whom clever men have robbed me a long time ago.
How could I help it? For the talk was clever and--and I had a
mind. And I am also, as Therese says, naturally sinful. Yes, my
dear, I may be naturally wicked but I am not evil and I could die
for you."
"You!" I said. "You are afraid to die.
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