The thing itself was cruel and hurt him. But that Hermione
had done it hurt him far more. He could hardly believe it. That by any
road she could travel to such an action seemed incredible to him. He
stood, realizing it. And the bitter sharpness of his suffering made
him understand something. In all its fulness he understood what
Hermione's tenderness had been in his life for many, many years. And
then--his mind seemed to take another step. "Why does a woman do such
a thing as this?" he asked himself. "Why does such a woman as Hermione
do such a thing?" And he knew what her suffering must have been, and
how her heart must have been storm-tossed, before it was driven to
succumb to such an impulse.
And he came quite close to her. And he felt a strange, sudden nearness
to her that was no nearness of body.
"Hermione," he said, "I could never judge your character by that
action. Don't--don't judge mine by any cruelty of which I have been
guilty during this summer. You have told me something that it was very
difficult for you to tell.
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