She shook her head. Then he wanted to know in a half-jocular
way how she felt about going away, and for a long voyage this time.
"Does it matter how I feel?" she asked in a tone that cast a gloom over
his face. He answered with repressed violence which she did not expect:
"No, it does not matter, because I cannot go without you. I've told you
. . . You know it. You don't think I could."
"I assure you I haven't the slightest wish to evade my obligations," she
said steadily. "Even if I could. Even if I dared, even if I had to die
for it!"
He looked thunderstruck. They stood facing each other at the end of the
saloon. Anthony stuttered. "Oh no. You won't die. You don't mean it.
You have taken kindly to the sea."
She laughed, but she felt angry.
"No, I don't mean it. I tell you I don't mean to evade my obligations. I
shall live on . . . feeling a little crushed, nevertheless."
"Crushed!" he repeated. "What's crushing you?"
"Your magnanimity," she said sharply. But her voice was softened after a
time. "Yet I don't know. There is a perfection in it--do you understand
me, Roderick?--which makes it almost possible to bear.
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