You looked as if--almost as if you had run all the way to be in
time to save my life--my wretched life. And you saved it. Did you save
me to hate me?"
He waited for her to speak. But still she was silent. He heard no
sound of her at all, and for a moment he almost wondered whether she
had discovered that the chamber had some second outlet, whether she
had not escaped while he had been speaking. But he looked round and he
saw only dense darkness. She must be there still, close to him,
hearing everything he said, whether against her will or with it. He
was being perfectly sincere, and he was feeling very deeply, with
intensity. But out of his natural reserve now rose a fear--the fear
that perhaps his voice, his speech, did not convey his sincerity to
her. If she should mistake him! If she should fancy he was trying to
play upon her emotions in order to win her away from some desperate
resolve. He longed to make her see what he was feeling, feel what he
was feeling, be him and herself for one moment.
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