Bingham and her colleagues."
He sat down again with his elbow on the arm of the chair and half
shading his eyes with his hand. His whole manner altered. Not a trace
of the rector remained in him: the decisiveness vanished from his
voice; it became musical, low, and hesitating. It was as if some angel
had touched him, and had suddenly converted all his strength into
tenderness, a transformation not impossible, for strength is tenderness
and tenderness is strength.
"I shall be forty-nine years old next birthday," he said. "Never until
now have I been sure that I loved a woman. I was married when I was
twenty-five. I had seen two or three girls whom I thought I could love,
and at last chose one. It was the arbitrary selection of a weary will.
My wife died within two years of her marriage. After her death I was
thrown in the way of women who attracted me, but I wavered. If I made
up my mind at night, I shrank back in the morning. I thought my
irresolution was mere cowardice. It was not so. It was a warning that
the time had not come.
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