Born as she had been out of sin, and the
tragic expiation of sin, she had learned more quickly than other women,
as though the spectre of the unhappy Janet stood always at her side to
help her to a deeper understanding and a sincerer pity. She knew now
that if she loved Abel, it was because all other interests and emotions
had faded like the perishable bloom on the meadow before the solid, the
fundamental fact of her need of him.
"Do you still get books from the library in Applegate?" she asked
because she could think of nothing to say that sounded less trivial.
"Sometimes, and second hand ones from a dealer I've found there. One
corner of the mill is given up to them."
Again there was silence, and then she said impulsively in her old
childlike way.
"Abel, have you ever forgiven me?"
"There was nothing to forgive. You see, I've learned, Molly."
"What you've learned is that I wasn't worth loving, I suppose?"
He laughed softly. "The truth is, I never knew how much you were worth
till I gave you up," he answered.
"It was the same way with me--that's life, perhaps."
"That sounded like my mother.
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