She put her fingers through his hair.
For her, the anguished sweetness of self-sacrifice.

For him, the hate and misery of another failure.

He could not bear it--that breast which was warm and which cradled him without taking the burden of him.

So much he wanted to rest on her that the feint of rest only tortured him.

He drew away.
"And without marriage we can do nothing ?" he asked.
His mouth was lifted from his teeth with pain.