Only it's different. It's as though I
were loving myself, the better part of myself. Not something new and
wildly exciting, but something old that I had known always and that
had always been with me. If I went away now. Maggie, I know I'd come
back one day--perhaps years afterwards--but I know I'd come back.
It's like that religious part of me, like my legs and my arms. Oh!
it's not of my own comfort I'm doubting, but it's you! . . . I don't
want to hurt you, Maggie darling, just as I've hurt every one I
loved--"
"I'll come with you, Martin," said Maggie, "as long as you want me,
and if you don't want me, later you will again and I'll be waiting
for you."
He put his arm round her. She crept up close to him, nestled into
his coat and put her hand up to his cheek. He bent down his head and
they kissed.
After that there could be no more argument. What had he not intended
to press upon her? With what force arid power had he not planned to
persuade her? How he would tell her that he did not love her, that
he would not be faithful to her, that he would treat her cruelly.
Now it was all gone. With a gesture of almost ironic abandonment he
flung away his scruples.
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