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Page 32
"'She has a heart
That finds a use for any kind of love,
As yours does,' I replied, 'if she will take
My love in pay for hers instead of yours.'
"'Nay Lota,' he said earnestly, 'I swear
I have not wronged her once with one fond word,
I do not say for your sake, but for hers,
I have not wronged her once with one fond word.
And now forgive me, Lota - love me more.
Love me, my own, I shall ask no more love.'
"'Not Melanie's?' I answered quietly:
He sprang as if a wasp had stung him, stamped,
Hissed through his teeth. 'Gossips and fools' he breathed.
'Not Melanie's?' I said again. 'Perhaps
She too has a great heart with room for me.'
"'Lota,' he cried, 'I will not bear your taunts.
I am wrong, wrong here again, but do you think
You are to twit me with my least escape
From the chill misery you make me here,
Where you'll not love me, no, where you so smile
As you may upon your priest, or else so shrink
As from a lackey's touch, look bland and smile,
And yield, as if I were some visitor,
Or droop in silence like a weary slave?
Are you to twit me as if it were a crime
To try to seem a moment my old self?
What's Melanie? Should I seek Melanie,
And Melanie's light friends and noisy routs,
If you would sit with a kind hand in mine
And look as if you loved me?'
"'Proved,' I said,
'Your outburst shows you have no answer here:
And I could hate you. Will you teach me love
On the pattern of this dancer? I, your wife,
You tell me you, perforce, must woo this thing
Of gauze and paint until I love you more?'
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