A deep flush had stained her
cheeks. But as he ceased speaking the same shrinking, the same humility
marked her attitude. She knew instinctively she dared not say the things
she was yearning to pour out. She knew instinctively that any such
course would at once break down that thin veneer of restraint he was
exercising. And for perhaps the first time in her life she stood awed
and cowed by a man.
But this woman was the slave of her passions, and she knew it. It was
this now that made a coward of her. With all the power of self in her
she had abandoned herself to her love for her husband. And, with slavish
submission, she was prepared to accept his words rather than banish
herself out of his presence altogether. A mad, wild hope lay somewhere
deep down in her heart that some day he could be made to forget. That
some day, through what looked to her like endless days of devotion and
help, she might win back something of what she had lost. She knew her
own attraction. She knew her own powers. Might there not then be hope
in the dim future?
She had no pride where Jeff was concerned.
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