“Then why do you threaten me with this killing shame?”
“I must have some of you. I never knew my own mad need until this moment.”
“Are you in love with me, Richard?”
“Yes. Now you mention it, I suppose that’s it.”
“And do you want to shame the thing you love?”
“No, Ira, if you would only love me too a little. Will you?”
She gave a thread of a smile.
“How can I help it, if it is to save myself?”
I gathered her furiously to my breast, and rose to my feet, holding her so. My arms were crushed about her; I set my teeth, snarling, to the demons of the storm. Let death and hate try to come to conclusions with me for this my possession. Not a breath should enter to despoil her, if I knew her really for my own. I looked with wonder once more into her face. The very veins in it were things to love like flowers; the snowflakes crisped upon her hair; her eyes were closed again, and happily, it seemed to me.
“My God!” I said. “It can’t be true—it can’t. Answer me, Ira. Are you not offended?”