“That’s just it!” she said. “It is a necessity in me, and you want to prevent me.”
“No! No!” said Ramón. “I hope not.”
“Yes! You put a weight on me, and paralyse me, to prevent me from going,” she said.
“We must not do that,” he said. “We must leave you, and not come near you for a time, if you feel it is so.”
“Why? Why can’t you be friendly? Why can’t you be with me in my going? Why can’t you want me to go, since I must go?”
He looked at her with dispassionate eyes.
“I can’t do that,” he said. “I don’t believe in your going. It is a turning back: there is something renegade in it.—But we are all complicated. And if you feel you must go back for a time, go! It isn’t terribly important. You have chosen, really. I am not afraid for you.”
It was a great relief to her to hear this: because she was terribly afraid for herself. She could never be sure, never be whole in her connection with Cipriano and Ramón. Yet she said, mocking slightly:
“Why should you be afraid for me?”
“Aren’t you sometimes afraid for yourself?” he asked.