Chapter 79
I asked you for your love again, and I presumed too much, it seemed. The happiness of which I dreamed was but a jest to laugh at then, a trifle that your wanton eyes beheld, yet would not recognize. I will be just your friend, I said, were better thus to be content than everlasting banishment. You scarcely paused to turn your head. Not needed, I had ceased to be a thing for your utility. I went my way as others do. These are not days to rant
and weep. What pain there was I buried deep, together with my thoughts of you, and in that they lie apart, unmoored, saved by a breaking heart.
