Another woman might say that of another
man--but not I of you. Why are you going to leave me? I want so
little--only to see you now and then--to keep the heart in me."
"Can't you realise, that what I said in London is true?"
"No. I can't. It's unbelievable. You can't believe it yourself. If
you did, how could you go on behaving like anybody else--like me for
instance?"
"What would you do if you were condemned to die?"
She shuddered. "I should go mad with fear--I----" She broke off and
remained for some moments reflective, with knitted brow. Then she lifted
her head proudly. "No, I shouldn't. I should face it like you. Only
cowards are afraid. It's best to show things that you don't care a hang
for them."
"Keep that sublime _je m'en fich'isme_ up when I'm dead and buried,"
said I, "and you'll pull through your life all right. The only thing you
must avoid is the pursuit of eumoiriety."
"What on earth is that?" she asked.
"The last devastating vanity," said I.
And so it is.
"When you are gone," she said bravely, "I shall remember how strong and
true you were.
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