Of indolence, selfishness, unkindness, she accused herself; strove to count the times when she had yielded to temptation.
He was reading the first human heart he had ever known--a heart still strangely untainted, amid a society where innocence was the exception, doubtful wisdom the rule, and where curiosity was seldom left very long in doubt.
His hands fell over hers as her voice ceased, but he did not speak.
She waited a little while, then, with a slight nestling movement, turned and hid her face on his knees.
"With God's help," she whispered, "I will subdue what threatens me.

But I am afraid of it! Oh, Duane, I am afraid." He managed to steady his voice.
"What is it, darling, that seems to tempt you," he asked; "is it the taste--the effect ?" "The--effect.

If I could only forget it--but I can't help thinking about it--I suppose just because it's forbidden--For days, sometimes, there is not the slightest desire; then something stirs it up in me, begins to annoy me; or the desire comes sometimes when I am excited or very happy, or very miserable.

There seems to be some degraded instinct in me that seeks for it whenever my emotions are aroused....

I must be honest with you; I--I feel that way _now_--because, I suppose, I am a little excited." He raised her and took her in his arms.
"But you won't, will you?
Simply tell me that you won't." She looked at him, appalled by her own hesitation.