“Listen,” she whispered. “Here is my answer. I wrote it yesterday . . .
“Sometimes I wake and say, ‘I love him!’
And sometimes, ‘He loves me!’
But whichever way it is
The day is filled with a finer purpose.”
“Azalea, let me kneel at your feet!”
“No, no! Kiss me . . . Oh, my dear love, kiss me . . .”
For a time, they clung to one another, and when at last she withdrew from him, the room was plunged in utter darkness.
CHAPTER 28.
Of the five men who were left in Mr. Sullivan’s office, the Hon. Member for Morroway was not the least abashed. He had never confronted a moral quality like this in his whole experience. After all, he thought, recalling the sheer fineness of the man, men are something more than a mere merchantable commodity in the market of politics. Possibly, there are others who, like Dilling, disproved Walpole’s mot, that every man has his price . . .