"You know," he said, "Miriam and I have been a lot to each other ever since I was sixteen—that's seven years now."
"It's a long time," Clara replied.
"Yes; but somehow she—it doesn't go right——"
"How?" asked Clara.
"She seems to draw me and draw me, and she wouldn't leave a single hair of me free to fall out and blow away—she'd keep it."
"But you like to be kept."
"No," he said, "I don't. I wish it could be normal, give and take—like me and you. I want a woman to keep me, but not in her pocket."
"But if you love her, it couldn't be normal, like me and you."
"Yes; I should love her better then. She sort of wants me so much that I can't give myself."
"Wants you how?"