Little cared Tommy what became of the rest of his luggage so long as that palpitating package was safe.
"And little you care," Grizel said, in a moment of sudden bitterness, "whom you leave behind, so long as you take it with you." He forgave her with a sad smile.

She did not know, you see, that this manuscript might be his last.
And it was the only bitter thing she said.

Even when he looked very sorry for her, she took advantage of his emotion to help him only.
"Don't be too sorry for me," she said calmly; "remember, rather, that there is one episode in a woman's life to which she must always cling in memory, whether it was a pride to her or a shame, and that it rests with you to make mine proud or shameful." In other words, he was to get rid of his wings.

How she harped on that! He wanted to kiss her on the brow, but she would not have it.

He was about to do it, not to gratify any selfish desire, but of a beautiful impulse that if anything happened she would have this to remember as the last of him.