'
'No,' she said, pondering. 'You are just egocentric. You never have any
enthusiasm, you never come out with any spark towards me. You want
yourself, really, and your own affairs. And you want me just to be
there, to serve you.'
But this only made him shut off from her.
'Ah well,' he said, 'words make no matter, any way. The thing IS
between us, or it isn't.'
'You don't even love me,' she cried.
'I do,' he said angrily. 'But I want--' His mind saw again the lovely
golden light of spring transfused through her eyes, as through some
wonderful window. And he wanted her to be with him there, in this world
of proud indifference. But what was the good of telling her he wanted
this company in proud indifference. What was the good of talking, any
way? It must happen beyond the sound of words. It was merely ruinous to
try to work her by conviction. This was a paradisal bird that could
never be netted, it must fly by itself to the heart.
'I always think I am going to be loved--and then I am let down.
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