Something had warned her that it was foolish to keep Martin's
letters, but why should she not? She had never hidden her love for
Martin. Then, standing in the middle of the room, close beside the
large double-bed, with a football-group and "The Crucifixion"
staring down upon her, she had her worst hour. Nothing in all life
could have moved her as did that picture of Martin's loneliness and
sickness. Wave after wave of persuasion swept over her: "Go! Go now!
Take the train to Paris. You can find out from Mr. Magnus where he
was living. He is sick. He needs you. You swore to him that you
would never desert him, and you have deserted him. They don't want
you here. Grace hates you, and Paul is too lazy to care!"
At the thought of Paul resolution came to her. She looked up at the
rather fat, amiable youth with the stout legs and the bare knees in
the football photograph, and prayed to it: "Paul, I'm very lonely
and tempted. Care for me even though I can't love you as you want.
Don't give me up because I can't let you have what some one else has
got. Let's be happy, Paul--please."
She was shivering.
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