Here Mrs Devitt lifted up her hands, as if filled with righteous anger at this statement.
Mavis took no notice, but continued:
"That is why I married him. That was then. Now I am punished, as the wicked always are, punished over and over again. Why did I do it? Why? Why?"
Here a look of terror came into her eyes; these looked helplessly about the room, as if nothing could save her from the torment that pursued her.
"He is ill; very ill. His doctor told me. How long do you think he will live?"
"Pritchett?" asked Devitt.
"Yes, when he came down to Swanage. What he told me only makes it worse."
"Makes what worse?" asked Devitt, who was eager to end this painful scene.
"My punishment. He thinks me good—everything I ought to be. I love him! I love him! I love him! He's all goodness and love. He believes in me as he believes in God. I love him! How long do you think he'll live? I love him! I love him! I love him!"