She did not love him; could not pretend to love him.
Every day the distance between them widened, and when he took her in his arms she had to struggle with a sense of shrinking, of disgust.

The union was unnatural; she felt herself constrained by a hateful force when he called upon her for the show of wifely tenderness.

Yet how was she to utter this?
The moment such a truth had passed her lips she must leave him.

To declare that no trace of love remained in her heart, and still to live with him--that was impossible! The dark foresight of a necessity of parting from him corresponded in her to those lurid visions which at times shook Widdowson with a horrible temptation.
'You don't love me,' he continued in harsh, choking tones.

'You wish to be my _friend_.