The right sort wouldn't have anything to say to me after that,
and I do not blame them. And here is the torture of it. I can't
stand the wrong sort near me--physically, I mean. Mind, I
believe I'm attracted towards people with criminal tastes and
propensities. I believe that is what first led me towards Sir
Timothy. Every taste I ever had in life seems to have become
besmirched. I'm all the time full of the craving to do horrible
things, but all the same I can't bear to be touched. That's the
torment of it. I wonder if you can understand?"
"I think I can," he answered. "Your trouble lies in having the
wrong friends and in lack of self-discipline. If you were my
sister, I'd take you away for a fortnight and put you on the road
to being cured."
"Then I wish I were your sister," she sighed.
"Don't think I'm unsympathetic," he went on, "because I'm not.
Wait till we've got into the main road here and I'll try and
explain."
They were passing along a country lane, so narrow that twigs
from the hedges, wreathed here and there in wild roses, brushed
almost against their cheeks. On their left was the sound of a
reaping-machine and the perfume of new-mown hay. The sun was
growing stronger at every moment. A transitory gleam of pleasure
softened her face.
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