"Tell me why you do so much for me?"
It seemed that his face grew pale and stern.
"Because I am your friend."
"And is that everything?" I asked again.
"Everything," he replied, shaking my hand off his arm.
After that I remained so still that I thought that I heard the beating of his heart and mine. But all at once a voice roused me, a voice that revealed to me new depths of his soul, a voice composed of torture and pain, which bridged the way back to happiness and joy.
"Do you really want to hear that phrase?" he said. "You are too good for it; I have made a vow never to remember that you are a woman."
I stood in silence by his side. My eyes looked into the far distance and my thoughts measured years to come—years during which we would give each other all the treasures of heart and soul without ever getting any the poorer—years during which neither of us would know the pangs of remorse, the blushing with shame—years during which I would suffer all that a woman may suffer.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered simply; and we grasped each other's hands in silence....