AND I
don't want any pity. You've had a nice romantic idea in your head,
saving the sinner and all the rest of it. Well, you can get back to
your parson. He's the sort for that kind of stuff."
"Indeed I haven't," said Maggie. "I don't care whether you're a
sinner or not. You're being too serious about it all, Martin. We
were old friends. When I heard you were in London I came to see you.
That's all. I may as well stay here as anywhere else. Aunt Anne's
dead and--and--Uncle Mathew too. There's nowhere else for me to go.
I don't pity you. Why should I? You think too much about yourself,
Martin. It wasn't to be clever that I got these things. I was
hungry, and I didn't want to eat in an A.B.C. shop."
"Oh, I don't know," he said, turning away from the table.
He stood up, fumbling in his pocket. He produced a pipe and some
tobacco out of a paper packet. As he filled it she saw that his hand
was trembling.
He turned finally upon her.
"Whatever your plan was it's failed," he said. "I'm going to bed
straight away now. And to-morrow morning early I'm off. Thank you
for the meal and--good-night and good-bye.
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