“Carrion, she called it, and me a dog. The savour sticks somehow; I can’t go back to carrion. Let the King enjoy his own for me: I’m content with mine.”
“She your own? Any man’s, rather, after that.”
“Don’t say so! George——” He put a twitching hand on Hamilton’s sleeve. He seemed quite transformed in these few minutes; smitten out of the blue, and, under that rankling wound, lusting for what he had despised. There are those who, tyrannous to love’s submission, fall slaves to love’s disdain. Here was one who, expelled from Paradise, found himself, as it were, naked and ashamed. “I’d concede something,” he said, “to be on terms with her again—not all her condition, curse it, but something substantial.”
“What was her condition?”
“She swore she’d never speak word to me again till I’d gone on my knees to her to ask her pardon.”
“That was before you’d hurt her, physically. She’ll want more now.”
“What more?”
“Likely a separation.”
“I’ll not grant it.”
“She’ll take it her own way, never fear.”