Her spirits
rose as she walked.
It was only the intellectual part of him she wanted--the spirit, not the
man. She would be taking nothing away from the woman, nothing that had
ever belonged to her. All the rest of him: his home life, the benefits
that would come to her from his improved means, from his social position:
all that the woman had ever known or cared for in him would still be
hers. He would still remain to her the kind husband and father. What
more was the woman capable of understanding? What more had she any right
to demand?
It was not of herself she was thinking. It was for his work's sake that
she wanted to be near to him always: that she might counsel him,
encourage him. For this she was prepared to sacrifice herself, give up
her woman's claim on life. They would be friends, comrades--nothing
more. That little lurking curiosity of hers, concerning what it would be
like to feel his strong arms round her, pressing her closer and closer to
him: it was only a foolish fancy. She could easily laugh that out of
herself. Only bad women had need to be afraid of themselves.
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