"Or you wouldn't have come?"
"Or I wouldn't have come."
"Can't we let it all go, John?" she asked, a little, pitiful quiver about her lips. "I hate to lose your friendship; it—has always been dear to me."
He stood still, looking down at the frosted grass. "I thought it was dear to me until I lost you!"
"It's cruel that there can be no middle course; must it be love or hate?"
"It must always be love, I think—I've tried to kill it, Rachel."
"It will die after a while a natural death. We can't talk about it; John, haven't I done enough to kill it? I've married some one else."
"As if I didn't know it!"
"I'm trying to help you kill it!"
"You can't," bitterly, "every word you say makes it more alive. I've no right to stand here and look at you; I ought to remember the Mosaic law about my neighbor's wife. I've always despised men who made love to married women, and now I'm one of them; how you must hate me, Rachel!"