You will believe that to-day, to-morrow, you will still try to force life into your belief--and then it will be dead and gone like all thoughts which have never entered into the shapes of reality.

We have not loved each other.

We have but fancied that it would be sweet to love, and the knife of truth has parted the web of our dreams, keenly, in the midst, so that we see before us what is, though the ghost of what might have been is yet lingering near." "Who wove that web, Unorna?
You, or I ?" He lifted his heavy eyes and gazed at her coiled hair.
"What matters it whether it was your doing or mine?
But we wove it together--and together we must see the truth." "If this is true, there is no more 'together' for you and me." "We may yet glean friendship in the fields where love has grown." "Friendship! The very word is a wound! Friendship! The very dregs and lees of the wine of life! Friendship! The sour drainings of the heart's cup, left to moisten the lips of the damned when the blessed have drunk their fill! I hate the word, as I hate the thought!" Unorna sighed, partly, perhaps, that he might hear the sigh, and put upon it an interpretation soothing to his vanity, but partly, too, from a sincere regret that he should need to suffer as he was evidently suffering.

She had half believed that she loved him, and she owed him pity.

Women's hearts pay such debts unwillingly, but they do pay them, nevertheless.