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That is  true! he’s full of poison! I’ve never married the word to life! I’ve been a timid bachelor of Arts, not an artist! my poor pleasant books! all is well! is this well, the three of us? Darrell has become less and less her lover Nina has turned more and more to me  we have built up a secret life of subtle sympathies and confidences  she has known I have understood about her mere physical passion for Darrell  what woman could be expected to love Sam passionately? some day she’ll confide all about Darrell to me now that he’s finished  she knows that I love her without my telling  she even knows the sort of love it is.

[Passionately—thinking]

My love is finer than any she has known! I do not lust for her! I would be content if our marriage should be purely the placing of our ashes in the same tomb our urns side by side and touching one another  could the others say as much, could they love so deeply?

[Then suddenly miserably self-contemptuous]

What! platonic heroics at my age! do I believe a word of that? look at her beautiful eyes! wouldn’t I give anything in life to see them desire me? and the intimacy I’m boasting about, what more does it mean than that I’ve been playing the dear old Charlie of her girlhood again?

[Thinking in anguish]

Damned coward and weakling!

[Looking at him—pityingly—thinking]

What does he always want of me? me? I am the only one who senses his deep hurt I feel how life has wounded him  is that partly my fault, too?