I cannot go away with you.

I can never make my home with you.

I married you upon impulse.
I did you a great wrong, but you will admit that you hurried me into it.
And now that--that my eyes are open, I find that I cannot go on.

Would it--would it--" She was faltering under that unchanging gaze, but she compelled herself to utter the question--"be quite impossible to--to get a separation ?" "Quite," said Piet.
He did not raise his voice, but she shrank at the brief word, shrank uncontrollably as if he had struck her.
He went on quite steadily, but his eyes gave her no rest.

They seemed to her to gleam red in the glancing firelight.
"I do not admit that our marriage was a mistake.