It seemed impossible for him to speak connectedly or at any length, impossible to overcome his distaste for the hateful confession he must make. And she was intolerably patient with him; he resented her quiet, contained patience; while he feared, yet he was relieved when she at length insisted: "Well?"
"Since you didn't resent that confession, I am led to believe you don't—exactly—dislike me. That makes it just so much the harder to forfeit your regard."
"But must you?"
"Yes."
"Please explain," she urged, a trace wearily.
"I who love you with all my heart and mind and soul—I am not free to love you."
"You aren't free—!"
"I.... No."
After several moments, during which he fought vainly with his inability to go on, she resumed her examination with a manner aloof and yet determined:
"You've told me so much, I think you can hardly refuse to tell more."