"No, no, my little fawn, I must not kiss you. It is wicked to kiss
what we do not love. And I do _not_ love you." He was sheltering
himself behind that assertion, but of a sudden he broke into crying,
and his tears fell upon her face. "Child," he said, rising and pacing
the room, "do you know what it is to many a man, who cares a great
deal for your lips and eyes, and nothing for your mind and soul? It is
to marry a beast! You would be wretched with me. We should grow
inexpressibly tired of each other. Tell me," he cried, stopping short
in his swift walk to and fro, and confronting her with parched lips
and wet eyes, "could you endure to have me say cruel things to you
every day? Could you bear to have me think bitter things of you in my
heart, though I left them unsaid? How could you live under my coldness
and neglect? You must learn to hate me--to scorn me,--to think as
harshly of me as I shall always think of myself."
She was faint and dizzy, but she rose to her feet, and groped feebly
to the door, cowering from him as she went, with her hands over her
eyes. Then she turned back with a low wail of irrepressible anguish.
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