"I am a fool," Harry said, and she looked up and saw that he, too, was crying. "Oh, curse the wound," he said hoarsely. "Egad, I am damned feeble, child."
"I love you, I love you," she sobbed, and pressed her face to his….
"Oh, Harry, I am wicked."
She raised herself. "You are hurt, and I wear you out."
"That's a brag." Harry smiled faintly, "It takes more than you can give to kill me, ma'am."
"Ah, don't."
"Stand up and let me look at you." Which she did, and made parade of her beauty, smiling through tears. "Aye, you're a splendid woman," and his eyes brightened.
She made him a curtsy. "It's at your will, sir." "Yes, and why? Why? What made you come back?"
"My dear!" She held out her arms to him. "I have wanted you ever since I lost you. And now—now I am nothing unless you want me."
"Oh, be easy. There is plenty of you, and I want it all."
"Can you say so? Ah, Harry, you have known enough bad that's me, cruel and greedy and hard and cheating. I have always taken, and given nothing back."