“But why should you give up everything?”
“Why?” said Annie, “why?” She went over and stood by the window. The night wind came in and lifted a tress of her hair and played with it.
Leslie, seated on her own sofa at the farther end of the
room, seemed always, in her moments of bitterest grief in the future, to see that tress of hair tossed up and down by the wind. The electric light in the room played on it, and brought out some of its red fire. Annie’s face was ghastly pale; but her eyes were large and too brilliant for health.
“Why should you give up everything?” repeated Leslie, after another pause.
“Why? Can’t you understand? Did you ever have a watch with a broken spring?”
“I think so; yes.”
“It was useless, was it not?”
“Of course; until it was mended.”
“Well, I am like that watch. The spring that guided my life is broken, and, unlike the watch, it can never be mended.”