The desire to curse aloud, to hurl
defiant things at a personal deity, was battling within him, but instead
of yielding to it he merely repeated:
"I reckon you're right--it wouldn't be fair to you in the end."
"I hope you haven't any hard feeling toward me," she said presently,
sweetly commonplace.
"Oh no, I haven't any hard feeling. Good-bye, Molly."
"Good-bye, Abel."
Turning away from her, he walked rapidly back along the short grassy
path over the snowdrops. As she watched him, a lump rose in her throat,
and she asked herself what would happen if she were to call after him,
and when he looked round, run straight into his arms? She wanted to run
into his arms, but her knowledge of herself told her that once there she
would not want to stay. The sense of bondage would follow--on his part
the man's effort to dominate; on hers the woman's struggle for the
integrity of personality. As long as he did not possess her she knew
that emotion would remain paramount over judgment--that the longing to
win her would triumph over the desire to improve what he had won. But
once surrendered, the very strength and singleness of his love would
bring her to cage.
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