Now that stranger
silently spoke to him, silently told him many things.
She told him--that which few men ever know--something of what women
specially want, specially need in life. And the catalogue of these
needs seemed to him to be also the catalogue of her reasons for hating
him at this moment.
"Women need--I needed," she seemed to say, "not only a large and ample
friendship, noble condescending, a friendship like an announcement to
citizens affixed to the wall of a market-place, and covering boldly
all the principal circumstances and likely happenings of ordinary
feminine life, but a friendship, an affection, very individual, very
full of subtlety, not such as would suit, would fit comfortably women,
but such as would suit, would fit comfortably, would fit beautifully
one individual woman--me."
Ah, the "women need" was flung away, like a stone thrown into the sea!
It was the "I needed" that was held fast, that was shown to Artois
now. And the "I" stood to Hermione for herself.
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