I've tried to forget you, but I want you more and
more."
"How--how dare you!" she cried.
"Because I love you. And because I do, I've fought against seeing
you; but as you've come to me and you're going away to-morrow, I
must tell you."
Mavis was less resentful of his words; she resisted an inclination
to tremble violently,
"Don't go," urged Windebank.
"Where?"
"Abroad. Don't go and leave me. I love you."
"How can you! Harold was your friend."
"My enemy. He took you from me when I was sure of you; my enemy, I
tell you. Oh, little Mavis, let me make you happy. You can do no
good going with him, so why not stay? I'd give my life to hold you
in my arms, and I know I'd make you happy."
"You mustn't; you mustn't," murmured Mavis, as she strove to believe
that his words and the grasp of his hand on her arm did not minister
to the repressed, but, none the less ardent longings of her being.
"I must. I tell you I haven't been near a woman since I struck you
again in Pimlico, and all for love of you. I've waited. Now, I'll
get you."
Windebank placed his arms about her and kissed her lips, eyes, and
hair many, many times.
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