"I shall get you back."
Triumphantly, "The puzzle is solved!"
She faced him with a look of defiant negation. "That ocean I
crossed--it's as narrow as the East River into which I thought
of throwing myself many a time--it's as narrow as the East
River beside the ocean between what I am and what I was. And
I'll never go back. Never!"
She repeated the "never" quietly, under her breath. His eyes
looked as if they, without missing an essential detail, had swept
the whole of that to which she would never go back. He said:
"Go back? No, indeed. Who's asking you to go back? Not I.
I'm not _asking_ you to go anywhere. I'm simply saying that
you will--_must_--go forward. If you were in love, perhaps
not. But you aren't in love. I know from experience how men
and women care for each other--how they form these
relationships. They find each other convenient and
comfortable. But they care only for themselves. Especially
young people. One must live quite a while to discover that
thinking about oneself is living in a stuffy little cage with
only a little light, through slats in the top that give no
view. . . . It's an unnatural life for you. It can't last.
You--centering upon yourself--upon comfort and convenience.
Absurd!"
"I have chosen," said she.
"No--you can't do it," he went on, as if she had not spoken.
"_You_ can't spend your life at dresses and millinery, at
chattering about art, at thinking about eating and
drinking--at being passively amused--at attending to your hair
and skin and figure.
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