But here there
is something more than people. I don't know whether I love or hate any
one. I cannot marry you or any man until this is all over."
"And then," he interrupted passionately, touching her sleeve with his
hand. "After the war? Perhaps--again, you will--"
She took his hand in hers, looking at him as though she were suddenly
seeing him for the first time:
"No--_you_, John, never. In Petrograd I didn't know what this could
be--no idea--none. And now that I'm here I can think of nothing else
than what I'm going to find. There is something here that I'd be
afraid of if I let myself be and that's what I love. What will happen
when I meet it? Shall I feel fear or no? And so, too, if there were a
man whom I feared...."
"Semyonov!" Trenchard cried.
She looked at him and did not answer. He caught her hand urgently.
"No, Marie, no--any one but Semyonov. It doesn't matter about me. But
you _must_ be happy--you _must_ be. Nothing else--and he won't make
you. He isn't--"
"Happy!" she answered scornfully.
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