"Don't interrupt me, John. I want you to live here near me. These rooms are a man's rooms. I want to see a man in 'em; and, John, you're the man I want."
"But, Drusilla—"
"Now, John," raising her faded hand, "don't argue with me. I can see it's took you by surprise. But why shouldn't you live here, and me across the hall; and evenings, when the time is long, we can set before the fire like this and talk of the past. It's lonely, John, with no one."
"But, Drusilla, I couldn't—I couldn't—"
"Couldn't what, John? Couldn't you be happy here?"
"It isn't that."
"Well, what is it?"
"Drusilla, I couldn't accept even your charity."
"Now, John, I was afraid you'd say somethin' like that. When I was young, when we were young together, I'd 'a' give you all my life. What is a roof and the food you eat, compared to what I'd 'a' give you if things had been different?"
"But, Drusilla—"