Was this how she saw it?
"But we've had SOME perfect hours, SOME perfect times, when we were
together!" he pleaded.
"Never!" she cried; "never! It has always been you fighting me off."
"Not always--not at first!" he pleaded.
"Always, from the very beginning--always the same!"
She had finished, but she had done enough. He sat aghast. He had wanted
to say: "It has been good, but it is at an end." And she--she whose love
he had believed in when he had despised himself--denied that their love
had ever been love. "He had always fought away from her?" Then it had
been monstrous. There had never been anything really between them; all
the time he had been imagining something where there was nothing. And
she had known. She had known so much, and had told him so little. She
had known all the time. All the time this was at the bottom of her!
He sat silent in bitterness. At last the whole affair appeared in a
cynical aspect to him. She had really played with him, not he with her.
She had hidden all her condemnation from him, had flattered him, and
despised him.
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