“How do you intend to act?”
“I have no idea,” she responded, in a hoarse tone. “I am tired of it all, and driven to despair—I am sick to death of this eternal scheming, this perpetual fear lest the terrible truth should become known. God knows how I have suffered during this past year. Ah, how a woman can suffer and still live! I tell you,” she cried, with sudden desperation, “this dread that haunts me continually will drive me to take my life!”
“Rubbish!” he laughed. “Keep up your pluck. With a little ingenuity a woman can deceive the very devil himself.”
“I tell you,” she said. “I am tired of life—of you—of everything. I have nothing to live for—nothing to gain by living!”
Her voice was the voice of a woman driven to desperation by the fear that her secret should become known.
“Well,” he laughed brutally, “you’ve certainly nothing to gain by dying, my dear.”
“You taunt me!” she cried in anger. “You who hold me irrevocably in this bond of guilt—you who compel me to act as your accomplice in these vile schemes! I hate you!”
“Without a doubt,” he responded, with a short laugh. “And yet I have done nothing to arouse this feeling of antagonism.”
“Nothing! Do you then think so lightly of all the past?”
“My dear girl,” he said, “one should never think of what has gone by. It’s a bad habit. Look to your own safety, and to the future.”