“Don't, Joe!”
He looked up.
“I loved you so, Edith!”
“Don't you love me now?”
“God knows I do. I can't get over it. I can't. I've tried, Edith.”
He sat back on the floor and looked at her.
“I can't,” he repeated. “And when I saw you like that just now, with the kid in your arms—I used to think that maybe you and I—”
“I know, Joe. No decent man would want me now.”
She was still strangely composed, peaceful, almost detached.
“That!” he said, astonished. “I don't mean that, Edith. I've had my fight about that, and got it over. That's done with. I mean—” he got up and straightened himself. “You don't care about me.”