"Roddy, old man," she said, "if I hadn't seen--in the first--ten
minutes, the thing you--meant so hard I shouldn't see--I think it would
have--killed me. If I hadn't seen that you loved me--after all; after
everything. After all the tortures you'd suffered, through me. Because
that's all I want--in the world."
At that he put his arms around her and pulled her up to him. But the
manner of it was so different from his old embraces that presently she
drew him around so that what little light there was fell on his face,
and searched it thoughtfully.
"You _do_ believe me, Roddy, don't you--that there isn't any pity about
it? There isn't any room for pity. There's nothing in me at all but just
a great big--want of you. Don't you understand that?"
He did understand it with his mind, but he was a little dazed, like
one who has stood too near where the lightning struck. The hope
he had kept buried alive so long--buried alive because it wouldn't
die--could not be brought out into a blinding glory like this without
shrinking--pain--exquisite terrifying pain.
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