It has been fine, so that I daren't think of it.

But is it ME you want, or is it IT ?" He again felt guilty.

Did he leave Clara out of count, and take simply women?
But he thought that was splitting a hair.
"When I had Baxter, actually had him, then I DID feel as if I had all of him," she said.
"And it was better ?" he asked.
"Yes, yes; it was more whole.

I don't say you haven't given me more than he ever gave me." "Or could give you." "Yes, perhaps; but you've never given me yourself." He knitted his brows angrily.
"If I start to make love to you," he said, "I just go like a leaf down the wind." "And leave me out of count," she said.
"And then is it nothing to you ?" he asked, almost rigid with chagrin.
"It's something; and sometimes you have carried me away--right away--I know--and--I reverence you for it--but--" "Don't 'but' me," he said, kissing her quickly, as a fire ran through him.
She submitted, and was silent.
It was true as he said.

As a rule, when he started love-making, the emotion was strong enough to carry with it everything--reason, soul, blood--in a great sweep, like the Trent carries bodily its back-swirls and intertwinings, noiselessly.