Nothing else could prevail in the end. His was the service of the
unpenitent thief.
"And what is it you want to buy from me?" she asked evenly.
He did not notice, and he could not realize that ominous thing in her
voice and face. "I want to be friends with you. I want to see you here in
the woods, to meet you as you met Ingolby. I want to talk with you, to
hear you talk; to learn things from you I never learned before; to--"
She interrupted him with a swift gesture. "And then--after that? What do
you want at the end of it all? One cannot spend one's time talking and
wandering in the woods and teaching and learning. After that, what?"
"I have a house in Montreal," he said evasively. "I don't want to live
there alone." He laughed. "It's big enough for two, and at the end it
might be us two, if--"
With sharp anger, yet with coolness and dignity, she broke in on his
words. "Might be us two!" she exclaimed. "I have never thought of making
my home in a sewer. Do you think--but, no, it isn't any use talking! You
don't know how to deal with man or woman. You are perverted."
"I did not mean what you mean; I meant that I should want to marry you,"
he protested. "You think the worst of me. Someone has poisoned your mind
against me.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286