"Because you put a poisonous drug before me."
He flushed, biting his lip hard. Then he said in a cold, rough voice:
"Look here—am I to take this announcement seriously?"
"Yes."
"You mean you're really going to cut off to Italy and leave me in the lurch—like a sick dog in a ditch?"
"I'm going to Italy to-morrow."
"God! you're a fine helpmate!" he cried savagely. "'Eyes take your fill ... lips take your last embrace.' Come here!" he barked suddenly, tapping the side of the bed with his gaunt hand. "Come to your husband, wifie, dear!"
Sophy stood up. "No," she said.
"What! You refuse me a chaste embrace?—even at parting? You're really a sublime wife, ain't you?"
"I'm not a wife. I am myself. You are not my husband. You are not even yourself. Until you are yourself I will not come near you. I will not pretend to be your wife."