“Yes. It was silly of me to say that,” she agreed. “It isn’t true.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want to share as much of your life as I can.”
“It is a bleak, grimy business, a good deal of it.”
“I want to share it.”
“There is a good deal in it that will horrify you.”
“I must get used to that. . . . When I am in London I want you to promise that you will see me at least once a week.”
“There are seven days in the week. Let it be seven times.”
She laughed at that.