"Oh, Harlan, don't you understand?
Don't you see that I can't listen to you now? I have driven you to say
something to save my pride. I say I _have_! You are good and honest, and
you pity me--and my folly needs your pity. But if you should tell me now
that you love me, I'd die of shame--I'd distrust that love! I couldn't
help it--and I've brought it all on myself. Oh, my God, why have I grown
up a fool--why have I wasted the long days?"
She ran down past him. He did not try to stay her. He understood women
not at all. He obeyed her cry to be silent--to keep away from her.
She turned to him when she reached the ground.
"I haven't even known enough to understand how it stands between us.
Between us!" There was a wail in her voice. She sobbed the rest rather
than spoke it: "That river out there is between us! I don't even belong
to your country!"
She pointed at the great cross of the church-yard. It stood outlined in
the starlight.
"Religion stands between us! My father and your grandfather are between
us!"
She came back two steps, her face tear-wet, her features quivering with
grief.
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