She knew him now better than Carrington or Jacobi knew him.

Surely a man who spoke as he spoke, had noble instincts and lofty aims?
Was not his career a thousand times more important than hers?
If he, in his isolation and his cares, needed her assistance, had she an excuse for refusing it?
What was there in her aimless and useless life which made it so precious that she could not afford to fling it into the gutter, if need be, on the bare chance of enriching some fuller existence?
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