The horrible
sense of his view of her so deadened her that she staggered, and he
stepped forward, thinking she was going to fall.
"Sit down, sit down," he said gently. "You are ill; and it is
natural that you should be."
She did sit down, without knowing where she was, that strained look
still upon her face, and her eyes such as to make his flesh creep.
"I don't belong to you any more, then; do I, Angel?" she asked
helplessly. "It is not me, but another woman like me that he loved,
he says."
The image raised caused her to take pity upon herself as one who was
ill-used. Her eyes filled as she regarded her position further; she
turned round and burst into a flood of self-sympathetic tears.
Clare was relieved at this change, for the effect on her of what had
happened was beginning to be a trouble to him only less than the
woe of the disclosure itself. He waited patiently, apathetically,
till the violence of her grief had worn itself out, and her rush of
weeping had lessened to a catching gasp at intervals.
"Angel," she said suddenly, in her natural tones, the insane, dry
voice of terror having left her now. "Angel, am I too wicked for
you and me to live together?"
"I have not been able to think what we can do.
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