"How kind,
how beautiful, you are to me! How shall I ever repay you?"
She had her last grave pause, as if there might be a choice of
ways. But she chose. "By going on as you are."
It was into this going on as he was that they relapsed, and really
for so long a time that the day inevitably came for a further
sounding of their depths. These depths, constantly bridged over by
a structure firm enough in spite of its lightness and of its
occasional oscillation in the somewhat vertiginous air, invited on
occasion, in the interest of their nerves, a dropping of the
plummet and a measurement of the abyss. A difference had been made
moreover, once for all, by the fact that she had all the while not
appeared to feel the need of rebutting his charge of an idea within
her that she didn't dare to express--a charge uttered just before
one of the fullest of their later discussions ended. It had come
up for him then that she "knew" something and that what she knew
was bad--too bad to tell him. When he had spoken of it as visibly
so bad that she was afraid he might find it out, her reply had left
the matter too equivocal to be let alone and yet, for Marcher's
special sensibility, almost too formidable again to touch.
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