"
Around them conversation had grown louder, the blue cloud of tobacco
smoke more dense, the odour of cigarettes and coffee more pungent. Down
in the street a wandering musician was singing a little Neapolitan love
song. They heard snatches of it as the door downstairs was opened.
"You have known me for so short a time," she argued. "How can you
possibly be sure that I could give you what you want? And in any case,
how could I give anything except my eager wishes, my friendship--perhaps,
if you will, my affection? But would that bring you content?"
"No!" he answered unhesitatingly. "I want your love, I want you
yourself. You have played a woman's part in life. You haven't been
content to sit down and wait for what fate might bring you. You have
worked out your own destiny and you have shown that you have courage.
Don't disprove it."
She looked him in the eyes, very sweetly, but with the shadow of a great
disturbance in her face.
"I want to help you," she said. "Indeed, I feel more than you can
believe--more than I could have believed possible--the desire, the
longing to help.
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