“And without marriage we can do nothing?” he asked.
His mouth was lifted from his teeth with pain. She put her little finger between her lips.
“No,” she said, low and like the toll of a bell. “No, I think not.”
It was the end then between them. She could not take him and relieve him of the responsibility of himself. She could only sacrifice herself to him —sacrifice herself every day, gladly. And that he did not want. He wanted her to hold him and say, with joy and authority: “Stop all this restlessness and beating against death. You are mine for a mate.” She had not the strength. Or was it a mate she wanted? or did she want a Christ in him?