“Oh! I don't care,” I cried, “now. I don't care. Damn the whole system of things! Damn all this patching of the irrevocable! I want to take care of you, Isabel! and have you with me.”
“I can't stand it,” she blubbered.
“You needn't stand it. I thought it was best for you.... I thought indeed it was best for you. I thought even you wanted it like that.”
“Couldn't I live alone—as I meant to do?”
“No,” I said, “you couldn't. You're not strong enough. I've thought of that; I've got to shelter you.”
“And I want you,” I went on. “I'm not strong enough—I can't stand life without you.”
She stopped weeping, she made a great effort to control herself, and looked at me steadfastly for a moment. “I was going to kill myself,” she whispered. “I was going to kill myself quietly—somehow. I meant to wait a bit and have an accident. I thought—you didn't understand. You were a man, and couldn't understand....”
“People can't do as we thought we could do,” I said. “We've gone too far together.”
“Yes,” she said, and I stared into her eyes.
“The horror of it,” she whispered. “The horror of being handed over. It's just only begun to dawn upon me, seeing him now as I do. He tries to be kind to me.... I didn't know. I felt adventurous before.... It makes me feel like all the women in the world who have ever been owned and subdued.... It's not that he isn't the best of men, it's because I'm a part of you.... I can't go through with it. If I go through with it, I shall be left—robbed of pride—outraged—a woman beaten....”