“I have my work.”
“Your work! I see you believe you can do without me now. How long do you think you will be able to earn money in this way? All these men will be leaving Rome soon. The schools will be closed until next October. You will have to choose between the devil and the deep sea—”
“What is the good of talking about it?” she said wearily. “I know I have nothing to look forward to. I know that. Please go away.”
“Do you know that you have cost me more than any other woman I have ever met? You injured me; will you make no amends?”
She laughed. “So you are the victim.”
“Yes,” he said passionately, “I told you before that I suffered, and you believed me then. Is it my fault that I am made like this? Since that night in Florence when I held you in my arms I have had no peace.”
“You behaved very badly. I can’t think why I let myself be sorry for you.”
“Badly! Some men would, but I loved you even then.”
She looked wistfully towards the door. “I wish you would go. There are so many other women.”
“I love you, I want you,” he answered, and he caught her in his arms and held her in spite of her struggles. “I have you!” He forced her head down upon his breast and kissed her mouth. She thought the hateful pressure of his lips, the hateful fire of his eyes would kill her, and when, at last, she wrenched herself away she screamed with the despairing violence of some trapped, wild thing.