“No, no; please don’t touch me. I don’t want you, of all people, to do anything for me.”
“I wish you would let me undress you. I have often helped Aunt Raby to go to bed when she was very tired. Come, Rose, don’t turn away from me. Why should you?”
“Priscilla, you are the last person in the world who ought to be kind to me just now; you don’t know, you can never, never guess, what I did to you.”
“Yes, I can partly guess, but I don’t want to think of it.”
“Listen, Prissie: when I stole that money, I hoped people would accuse you of the theft.”
Prissie’s eyes filled with tears. “It was a dreadful thing to do,” she said, faintly.
“Oh, I knew you could never forgive me.”
“I do forgive you.”
“What! aren’t you angry? Aren’t you frantic with rage and passion?”
“I don’t wish to think of myself at all: I want to think of you. You are the one to be pitied.”