It is about my being afraid....
I used to be when I did not know enough to be.

And now, Garry, when I am less ignorant than I was--when I have divined enough of my unknown self to be afraid--dearest, I am not." She bent gently above the boyish head lying face downward on her knees--waited timidly for some response, touched his hair.
"I am listening," he nodded.
She said: "My will to deny you, my courage to control myself seem to be waning.

I love you so; and it is becoming so much worse, such a blind, unreasoning love....

And--do you think it will grow so much worse that I could be capable of anything ignoble?
Do you think I might be mad enough to beg my freedom?
I--I don't know where it is leading me, dear.

Do you?
It is that which bewilders me--that I should love you so--that I should not be afraid to love you so....