"I don't know. She may not live for long. And if she dies, you shall come away with me. We can go together anywhere in the world. There's no morality and no sense and no justice in such a sacrifice."
"Oh," she sighed, "what peace, if I could go with you!"
"You shall go with me."
She felt his heart ticking away the seconds. "But I can't," she said softly. "You see, I've married him."
"Great God—!"
"I know. But I can't help it. I knew what I was doing. And he needs me."
"Ah! If he's going to need you—And again, what of my need of you?"
"You're a better man than he is."
He pushed her from him and went to the window, and she dared not ask him for his thoughts. Perhaps he had none: perhaps, in the waste of snow from which the black trunks of trees stood up, he saw a likeness to his life.
He turned to ask, "How often does that beast get washed?"