...'
My good God! I felt my face redden.
'Oh, I could not _tell_ you...!' I cried: 'you talk the most disastrous...!
you lack all responsibility...! Never, never...!'
Her face now was covered with her left hand, her right on the tiller:
and bitingly she said, with a touch of venom:
'I could _make_ you come--_now_, if I chose: but I will not: I will wait
upon my God....'
'_Make_ me!' I cried: 'Leda! How make me?'
'I could cly before you, as I cly often and often ... in seclet ... for
my childlen....'
'_You_ cry in secret? This is news--'
'Yes, yes, I cly. Is not the burden of the world heavy upon me, too? and
the work I have to do _vely, vely_ gleat? And often and often I cly in
seclet, thinking of it: and I could cly now if I chose, for you love
your little girl so much, that you could not lesist me one minute....'
Now I saw the push and tortion and trembling of her poor little
under-lip, boding tears: and at once a flame was in me which was
altogether beyond control; and crying out: 'why, my poor dear,' I found
myself in the act of rushing through the staggering boat to take her to
me.
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