.."
"Yes," she admitted. "I can see that. But that doesn't cover
friendship."
He owned that it didn't. "But when I'm in love with a woman--this isn't
a fact I'm proud of, but it's true--I'm jealous of her. Not of other
men alone, though I'm that, too, but jealous of everything. I want to be
all around her. I want to be everything to her. I want her to think
there's nobody like me; that nobody else could be right and I be wrong.
And I want to be able to think the same of her. I want her to hide, from
me, the things about herself that I wouldn't like. When I ask her what
she thinks about something, I want her to say--what I want her to think.
I know what I want her to think, and if she doesn't say it she hurts my
feelings."
He thought it over a bit longer and then went on. "No, I've been in love
with women I could suspect of anything. Women I thought were lying to
me, cheating me; women I've hated; women I've known hated me. But I've
never been in love with a woman who was my friend.
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