There must be a conclusion, there must be finality.'
So he talked to himself, but aloud he said nothing whatever.
'What has been, has been,' she continued. 'There is nothing that I
regret. I hope you regret nothing--'
She waited for him to speak.
'Oh, I regret nothing,' he said, accommodatingly.
'Good then,' she answered, 'good then. Then neither of us cherishes any
regrets, which is as it should be.'
'Quite as it should be,' he said aimlessly.
She paused to gather up her thread again.
'Our attempt has been a failure,' she said. 'But we can try again,
elsewhere.'
A little flicker of rage ran through his blood. It was as if she were
rousing him, goading him. Why must she do it?
'Attempt at what?' he asked.
'At being lovers, I suppose,' she said, a little baffled, yet so
trivial she made it all seem.
'Our attempt at being lovers has been a failure?' he repeated aloud.
To himself he was saying, 'I ought to kill her here. There is only this
left, for me to kill her.
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