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understand that I hurt you, but it’s so stupid to sulk over it.
What’s the good of making us both unhappy? It’s been so
jolly, our friendship.’ She passed her fingers slowly over his
hand. ‘I love you, Philip.’
He got up, disengaging himself from her, and went to the
other side of the room.
‘I’m awfully sorry, I can’t do anything. The whole thing’s
over.’
‘D’you mean to say you don’t love me any more?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘You were just looking for an opportunity to throw me
over and you took that one?’
He did not answer. She looked at him steadily for a time
which seemed intolerable. She was sitting on the floor where
he had left her, leaning against the arm-chair. She began to
cry quite silently, without trying to hide her face, and the
large tears rolled down her cheeks one after the other. She
did not sob. It was horribly painful to see her. Philip turned
away.
‘I’m awfully sorry to hurt you. It’s not my fault if I don’t
love you.’
She did not answer. She merely sat there, as though she
were overwhelmed, and the tears flowed down her cheeks.
It would have been easier to bear if she had reproached him.
He had thought her temper would get the better of her, and
he was prepared for that. At the back of his mind was a feel-
ing that a real quarrel, in which each said to the other cruel
things, would in some way be a justification of his behav-
iour. The time passed. At last he grew frightened by her