He could not answer her. Her words came to him with a passionate breathlessness born of despair.
“I understand—yes, yes, do not speak—I can bear it—let it come slowly. I understand now.”
She stood with her head thrown back, her throat showing, her eyes closed as in prayer. Her face was as pale as the petals of the passion-flower upon the wall. Gabriel, with lips twitching, paced to and fro like one in physical anguish. A hand of ice seemed contracting about his heart. Suddenly, as by some superhuman instinct, he fell down with a half-muffled cry at the girl’s feet, caught her by the knees, and buried his face in her dress.
“Joan, Joan.”
She still stood with eyes closed, her body quivering, her hands over her heart.
“Joan, curse me, for God’s sake curse me!”
“No, no.”
“That I should have brought this upon you!”
“No, no.”
“Curse me.”