To look at her was to have an all but uncontrollable impulse to rise up and in a series of noisy and profane explosions reveal to her the truth that was poisoning him.

After a while, a sound from her direction made him glance at her.

She was sobbing.

He did not then know that, to her, tears were simply the means to getting what she wanted; so his heart softened.

While she was thinking that she was looking particularly well and femininely attractive, he was pitying her as a forlorn creature, who could never inspire love and ought to be treated with consideration, much as one tries to hide by an effusive show of courtesy the repulsion deformity inspires.
"Don't cry, Theresa," he said gently, trying to make up his mind to touch her.