“Shall I go on?” he asked after a moment.
“If—if you will. I am afraid it is horrible to you to remember.”
“Do you think I forget when I hold my tongue? It's worse then. But don't imagine it's the thing itself that haunts me so. It is the fact of having lost the power over myself.”
“I—don't think I quite understand.”
“I mean, it is the fact of having come to the end of my courage, to the point where I found myself a coward.”
“Surely there is a limit to what anyone can bear.”
“Yes; and the man who has once reached that limit never knows when he may reach it again.”
“Would you mind telling me,” she asked, hesitating, “how you came to be stranded out there alone at twenty?”
“Very simply: I had a good opening in life, at home in the old country, and ran away from it.”
“Why?”