He drew a long breath and sent it out again.
"You know what I think of you."
He looked at her, threw up his head suddenly and went to her.
His words came fast now and thick.
"You know I love you. That's why I've been such a brute to you—because I couldn't have you in my arms and it made me mad. And you know it. That's what you mean when you say it hurts you. You shan't be hurt any more. I'm going to end it."
He stooped over her suddenly, steadying himself by his two hands laid on the back of her chair. She put out her arms and pushed with her hands against his shoulders, as if she would have beaten him off. He sank to her knees and there caught her hands in his and kissed them. He held them together helpless with his left arm and his right arm gathered her to him violently and close.
His mouth came crushing upon her parted lips and her shut eyes.
Her small thin hands struggled piteously in his and for pity he released them. He felt them pushing with their silk-soft palms against his face. Their struggle and their resistance were pain to him and exquisite pleasure.
"Not that, Steven! Not that! Oh, I didn't think—I didn't think you would."
"Don't send me away, Gwenda. It's all right. We've suffered enough.
We've got to end it this way."