"I won't tell you any more."
The declaration was made in a tone of childish fretfulness.
Edith grew soothing. "I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings. Don't mind speaking, because it doesn't make any difference to me—now."
The woman stared, the tears wet on her cheeks. "Don't you—love him?"
Edith was ready with her answer. It came firmly: "No."
"Didn't you—ever?"
This time Edith considered, answering more slowly. "I don't know. If I ever did—the thing is so dead—that I don't understand how it could ever have been alive."
The woman dried her eyes. "I don't see how you can help it."
"You can't help it, can you?" Edith smiled, with a sense of her own superiority. "I suppose that's the reason you come here. I've seen you before."
"Have you?"