I've no
money. My health's gone all to billyoh! I don't want to get better.
Why should I? Perhaps I did love you a little bit--once--in a queer
way, but that's all gone now. I don't love any one on this earth. I
just want to get rid of this almighty confusion going on in my head.
I can't rest for it. I'd finish myself off if I had pluck enough. I
just haven't."
"Martin," she said, "why did you write all those letters to me?"
"What letters?" he asked.
"Those that Amy stopped--the ones from abroad."
"Oh, I don't know," he looked away from her. "I was a bit lonely, I
suppose."
"Tell me another thing," she said. "These weeks I've been here have
I bored you ?"
"I've been too ill to tell . . . How do I know? Well, no, you
haven't. You're such a queer kid. You're different from any other
human--utterly different. No, you haven't bored me--but don't think
from that I like having you here. I don't--you remind me of the old
life. I don't want to think of it more than I must. You'll admit
I've been trying to scare you stiff in all I've told you, and I
haven't scared you. It's true, most of it, but it isn't so damned
sensational as I've tried to make it .
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