"But you don't--you never touch it," she urged. "I know, because--well,
because every day I look into it! I suppose you'll say I have no right,
that it's spying, or something. But I don't care for that. And I can see
that it's worrying you dreadfully. And if you don't drink any of it, why
won't you let me have it?"
"If I don't drink it; what difference does it make who has it?" he
countered.
"I'm afraid there'll be a time when you'll yield, just because you are
blue and discouraged--or something; whatever mood it is that makes the
temptation hardest to resist. I know myself that things are harder to
endure some days than they are others." She stopped and looked at him in
that enigmatical way she had. "You may not know it--but I've been
staying here just to see whether you fail or succeed. I thought I
understood a little of why you came, and I--I stayed." She leaned and
twisted a wisp of Hooligan's mane nervously, and Ford noticed how the
color came and went in the cheek nearest him.
"I--oh, it's awfully hard to say what I want to say, and not have it
sound different," she began again, without looking at him.
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