"How is it different?"
"I can't tell you."
"You mean—it's different because I'm not good."
"No, my child, I'm afraid it's different because I'm bad. That's as near as we can get to it."
She shook her head in persistent, obstinate negation.
"See here, Maggie, we must end it. We can't go on like this any more. We must give it up."
"I can't," she moaned. "Don't ask me to do that, Wallie dear. Don't ask me."
"I must, Maggie. I must give it up. I told you, dear, before we took this place, that it must end, sooner or later, that it couldn't last very long. Don't you remember?"
"Yes—I remember."
"And you promised me, didn't you, that when the time came, you wouldn't—"