"
"Then you love me as I love you," Said she, putting her arms
round him. "And that's all I want. I don't want what you call
respect. I couldn't ever have hoped to get that, being born as
I was--could I? Anyhow, it doesn't seem to me to amount to much.
I can't help it, Rod--that's the way I feel. So just love me--do
with me whatever you will, so long as it makes you happy. And I
don't need to be trusted. I couldn't think of anybody but you."
He felt sure of her again, reascended to the peak of the moral
mountain. "You understand, we can never get married. We can
never have any children."
"I don't mind. I didn't expect that. We can _love_--can't we?"
He took her face between his hands. "What an exquisite face it
is," he said, "soft and smooth! And what clear, honest eyes!
Where is _it?_ Where _is_ it? It _must_ be there!"
"What, Rod?"
"The--the dirt."
She did not wince, but there came into her young face a deeper
pathos--and a wan, deprecating, pleading smile. She said:
"Maybe love has washed it away--if it was there. It never seemed
to touch me--any more than the dirt when I had to clean up my room."
"You mustn't talk that way. Why you are perfectly calm! You
don't cry or feel repentant. You don't seem to care."
"It's so--so past--and dead. I feel as if it were another
person. And it was, Rod!"
He shook his head, frowning. "Let's not talk about it," he said
harshly.
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