But she
determined that she must take the whole of Martin; in the very first
days of her love she had resolved that, and now that resolution was
to be put to the test. Her terrified fear was lest the things that
he told her about himself should affect her love for him. She had
told him years before: "It isn't the things you've done that I mind
or care about: it's you, not actions that matter." But his actions
were himself, and what was she to do if all these things that he
said were true?
Then she discovered that she had indeed spoken the truth. Her love
for him did not change; it rather grew, helped and strengthened by a
maternal pity and care that deepened and deepened. He seemed to her
a man really possessed, in literal fact, by devils. The story of the
lighted house was the symbol, only he, in the bitterness and
defiance of his heart, had invited the guests, not been surprised by
them.
He pretended to glory in his narration, boasting and swearing what
he would do when he would return to the old scenes, how happy and
triumphant he had been in the midst of his filth--but young and
ignorant though she was she saw beneath this the misery, the shame,
the bitterness, the ignominy.
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