The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

'Has he been here to-day? Were you thinking of him when I came? Were you languorous from his embraces?'

'How dare you!'

'The only lover to whom you have been faithful, more or less!'

'You vowed you did not believe the scandals about me, and now, when I refuse you the smallest thing, you are ready to believe every word. What a love is this! I thought I had heard you talk so often of boundless confidence.'

'I believe every word I have heard against you. I believe you are a harlot.'

She had raised herself from her couch, and we were standing face to face.

'Do you want money? Look! I have as good money as another. I will pay you for your love; here, take it.'

I took gold pieces from my pocket and flung them at her feet.

'Ah,' she cried in indignation, 'you cur! Go, go!'

She pointed to the door. Then I felt a sudden revulsion. I fell on my knees and seized her hands.