It was her emotion that
surprised him. He had never thought her capable of passion, and this was
passion: there was no mistaking it. Something seemed to give way in his
heart; it really felt to him as though something were breaking, and he
felt strangely weak.
"I don't want to make you unhappy. You needn't come away with me if you
don't want to. I'll give you the money all the same."
She shook her head.
"No, I said I'd come, and I'll come."
"What's the good, if you're sick with love for him?"
"Yes, that's the word. I'm sick with love. I know it won't last, just as
well as he does, but just now..."
She paused and shut her eyes as though she were going to faint. A strange
idea came to Philip, and he spoke it as it came, without stopping to think
it out.
"Why don't you go away with him?"
"How can I? You know we haven't got the money."
"I'll give you the money"
"You?"
She sat up and looked at him. Her eyes began to shine, and the colour came
into her cheeks.
"Perhaps the best thing would be to get it over, and then you'd come back
to me."
Now that he had made the suggestion he was sick with anguish, and yet the
torture of it gave him a strange, subtle sensation. She stared at him with
open eyes.
"Oh, how could we, on your money? Harry wouldn't think of it."
"Oh yes, he would, if you persuaded him.
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