"'He' wouldn't, Charlotte. But I would…. You know I do care for you?"
"I thought you did—I mean I thought you were beginning to. That's why
I told you what happened, though I knew you'd loathe me."
"I don't. I'm glad you told me. I'm glad it happened. I mean I'm glad you worked it off on him…. You got it over; you've had your experience; you know all about it; you know how long that sort of thing lasts and how it ends. The baseness, the cruelty of it … I'm like you, Charlotte, I don't want any more of it…. When I say I care for you I mean I want to be with you, to be with you always. I'm not happy when you're not there….
"… I say, I wish you'd leave this place and come away and live with me somewhere."
"Where?"
"There's my farm. My father's going to give me one if I stick to this job. We could run it together. There are all sorts of jolly things we could do together…. Would you like to live with me, Charlotte, on my farm?"
"Yes."
"I mean—live with me without that."
"Yes; without that."
"It isn't that I don't care for you. It's because I care so awfully, so much more than anybody else could. I want to go on caring, and it's the only way. People don't know that. They don't know what they're destroying with their blind rushing together. All the delicate, exquisite sensations. Charlotte, I can get all the ecstasy I want by just sitting here and looking at you, hearing your voice, touching you—like this." His finger-tips brushed the bare skin of her arm. "Even thinking of you …