She despises me, I suppose. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. “Never mind me. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. "I've the Bridewell account to settle. It could not be a legal marriage.
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