"Do you--do you wish me not to think of you?"
"What I wish--that is so little, but--no, Boris, I can't say--I don't
think I could ever truly say that I wish you to think no more of me.
After all, one has a heart, and I think if it's worth anything it must
be often a rebellious heart. I know mine is rebellious. But if you don't
think too much of me--when you are there--"
She paused, and they looked at each other for a moment in silence. Then
she continued:
"Surely it will be easier for you, happier for you."
Androvsky clenched his right hand on the divan and turned round till he
was facing her full. His eyes blazed.
"Domini," he said, "you are truthful. I'll be truthful to you. Till
the end of my life I'll think of you--every day, every hour. If it were
mortal sin to think of you I would commit it--yes, Domini, deliberately,
I would commit it. But--God doesn't ask so much of us; no, God doesn't.
I've made my confession. I know what I must do. I'll do it. You are
right--you are always right--you are guided, I know that. But I will
think of you. And I'll tell you something--don't shirk from it, because
it's truth, the truth of my soul, and you love truth.
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