"
After an instant Quisante rose slowly and falteringly; he laid his arm in
hers, and they stood side by side, gazing down into the valley. This hill
had come to mean much in their lives, and somehow now they seemed to be
saying good-bye to it.
"I could never forget this hill," she said, "any more than I could forget
you. You told me just now that I didn't love you. Well, as you mean it,
perhaps not. But you've been almost everything in the world to me.
Everything in the world isn't all good, but it's--everything." She turned
to him suddenly and kissed him on the cheek. "Lean on me as we go down
the hill," she said. There was pity and tenderness in the words and the
tone. But Quisante drew his arm sharply away and braced his body to
uprightness.
"I'm not tired. I can go quite well by myself. You look more tired than I
do," he said. "Come, we shall be late," and he set off down the hill at a
brisk pace.
Her appeal then had failed; this last little incident told her that with
unpitying plainness. If he had yielded for a moment before the face of
reality, he soon recovered himself, turned away from the sight, and went
back to his masquerading.
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