But she could not bring herself to touch him. Looking down at him there,
her eyes were softer and her lips took a gentler curve. "You mustn't be
down there," she said. "I don't like to see you there--and can't talk to
you till you get up. Let's sit down and talk--if you will." He rose
obediently and stood with heaving chest, while she drew a chair to the
fire and seated herself. Then he took to the hearthrug, and possessed
himself of her hand.
"What a cold hand, my dear! Oh, Sancie, how I could have warmed you once!
Is that never to be again? Don't tell me so, for God's sake."
"Oh, how can I tell!" cried she. "Surely you can understand me better than
that? Do you ask me to forget everything that has has happened in eight
years?"
"I asked you to forgive me, my dear."
"And I have forgiven."
"But do you store these things up against me? That's not too generous, is
it?"
"I don't store anything," she assured him; "but it wouldn't be honest of
me to pretend I am what I was--once. I was a child then, and now I'm a
woman. You have made me that. I am what you made me."
He stared into the fire, dropped her hand, which she instantly hid under
the other.
"You mean to tell me, then," he said, "that I have made you cease to
care?"
She tried to soften the verdict.
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