His hand closed upon her. "Does that mean that you hate him more than you
love me?" he said.
A faint quiver crossed her face. She passed the question by. "Do you
remember--Cynthia Paramount--your heroine?" she said. "The woman you
dissected so cleverly--stripped to the naked soul--and exposed to public
ridicule? You were terribly merciless, weren't you, Dick? You didn't
expect--some day--to find yourself married--to that sort of woman."
His face hardened. "In what way do you resemble her?" he said. "I have
never seen it yet."
"Can't you see it--now?" she returned, lifting her face more fully to
the light.
He was silent for several seconds, looking at her. Then very suddenly his
attitude changed. He knelt down by her side and spoke, urgently,
passionately.
"Juliet--for God's sake--let us remember what we are to each other--and
put the rest away!"
His arm encircled her. He would have drawn her close, but she held back
with a sharp sound that was almost a cry of pain.
"Dick, wait--wait a moment! You don't know--don't understand! Ah,
wait--please wait! Take your arm away--just for a moment--please--just
for a moment! I have something to tell you, but I can't say it like this.
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