She still kept her eyes on mine. Her tone was that of a challenge.
"Why—yes." She added, perhaps defiantly, "Don't you?"
I said, decidedly:
"No, I don't."
"Then you don't love. You can't love. Love is reckless. Love—" There was a long pause before she dropped the two concluding words, spacing them apart as if to emphasize her deliberation. "Love—risks—all."
"If it risks all it may lose all."
The challenge was renewed.
"Well? Isn't that better than—?"
"It's not better than doing right," I hastened to say, "however hard it may be."
"Ah, but what is right? A thing can't be right if—if—" she sought for a word—"if it's killing you."