"Do you expect me to scold you every time I speak, Esmée? I have said enough, I think. Come here, dear girl. I need to be forgiven now. It cuts me to the heart to see you so humble. May God humble me for those words I said!"
"You spoke the truth. Only we had not been telling each other the truth before."
"No. And we must stop it. We shall learn the truth fast enough. We need not make whips of it to lash each other with. Come here."
"I can't," said Esmée in a choking whisper.
"Yes, you can. You shall forgive me."
She shook her head. "That is not the question. You did not do it. I did not do it. God has done it—as you said."
"Did I say that? Did I presume to preach to you?"
"If I have done what you say—if I have cut you off from all human relations, and made your house worse than a den of thieves and murderers, how can anything be too bad for me to hear? What does it matter from whom I hear it?"
"I was beside myself. I was drunk with sorrow and fatigue."
"That is when people speak the truth, they say. I don't blame you, Jack. How should I? But you know it can never be the same, after this, with you or with me."