A few anguished moments went by.
"Well, Hanka, this is rather unfortunate, in a way," he began finally.
"You have evidently understood me to mean that when you got your divorce--
that if you only were free--Of course, I may have said something to that
effect; I admit that if you have interpreted my words literally such a
supposition is probably justified. I have most likely said things more
than once--"
"Yes, of course," she interrupted; "we have never meant anything else,
have we? For you love me, don't you? What is the matter? You are so
strange to-day!"
"I am awfully sorry, but really--things are not as they used to be." He
looked away sadly and searched for words. "I cannot lie to you, Hanka, and
the plain truth is that I am not enraptured by you as much as I used to
be. It would hardly be right to deceive you; anyway, I couldn't do it--it
is beyond me."
At last she understood; these were plain words. And quietly bending her
head, yielding to the inevitable, letting go of the last lingering hope,
she whispered in a dull and broken voice:
"Couldn't do it; no--It is all over, irrevocably over--"
He sat there silent.
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