It's in the name of what I DO care about that I've tried still to keep hold of you.

How can I be indifferent," she asked, "to how I appear to you ?" And as he found himself unable immediately to say: "Why, if you're going, NEED you, after all?
Is it impossible you should stay on--so that one mayn't lose you ?" "Impossible I should live with you here instead of going home ?" "Not 'with' us, if you object to that, but near enough to us, somewhere, for us to see you--well," she beautifully brought out, "when we feel we MUST.

How shall we not sometimes feel it?
I've wanted to see you often when I couldn't," she pursued, "all these last weeks.

How shan't I then miss you now, with the sense of your being gone forever ?" Then as if the straightness of this appeal, taking him unprepared, had visibly left him wondering: "Where IS your 'home' moreover now--what has become of it?
I've made a change in your life, I know I have; I've upset everything in your mind as well; in your sense of--what shall I call it ?--all the decencies and possibilities.

It gives me a kind of detestation--" She pulled up short.
Oh but he wanted to hear.