“I can’t. I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely.
She understood only that something in his mind threatened their happiness. Her eyes clung to his. She waited, breathless, still under the spell of their great moment.
“Can’t what?” at last she murmured.
“Can’t ... marry you.” He struggled for expression, visibly in anguish. “I’m ... outside the pale.”
“How—outside the pale?”
“I’ve made it impossible. We met too late.”
“You’re not—married?”
“No. I’m ... I’m—” He stuck, and started again. “You know. My vice.”
It took her a moment to remember what it was. To her it was something done with ages ago in that pre-millennial past before they had found each other. She found no conceivable relationship between it and this miracle which had befallen them.
“But—I don’t understand. You’re not—”