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‘I do love you, Philip,’ she said.
‘Don’t talk damned rot.’
‘It isn’t, it’s true. I can’t live without you. I want you.’
He released himself from her arms.
‘Please get up. You’re making a fool of yourself and you’re
making me feel a perfect idiot.’
‘I love you, Philip. I want to make up for all the harm I
did you. I can’t go on like this, it’s not in human nature.’
He slipped out of the chair and left her in it.
‘I’m very sorry, but it’s too late.’
She gave a heart-rending sob.
‘But why? How can you be so cruel?’
‘I suppose it’s because I loved you too much. I wore the
passion out. The thought of anything of that sort horrifies
me. I can’t look at you now without thinking of Emil and
Griffiths. One can’t help those things, I suppose it’s just
nerves.’
She seized his hand and covered it with kisses.
‘Don’t,’ he cried.
She sank back into the chair.
‘I can’t go on like this. If you won’t love me, I’d rather go
away.’
‘Don’t be foolish, you haven’t anywhere to go. You can
stay here as long as you like, but it must be on the definite
understanding that we’re friends and nothing more.’
Then she dropped suddenly the vehemence of passion
and gave a soft, insinuating laugh. She sidled up to Philip
and put her arms round him. She made her voice low and
wheedling.