" A gust of sudden remorse tore her out from her quietness,
made her cry out to him:
"Captain Lingard, we forget how we have met, we forget what is going on.
We mustn't. I won't say that you placed your belief wrongly but I have
to confess something to you. I must tell you how I came here to-night.
Jorgenson . . ."
He interrupted her forcibly but without raising his voice.
"Jorgenson. Who's Jorgenson? You came to me because you couldn't help
yourself."
This took her breath away. "But I must tell you. There is something in
my coming which is not clear to me."
"You can tell me nothing that I don't know already," he said in
a pleading tone. "Say nothing. Sit still. Time enough to-morrow.
To-morrow! The night is drawing to an end and I care for nothing in the
world but you. Let me be. Give me the rest that is in you."
She had never heard such accents on his lips and she felt for him a
great and tender pity. Why not humour this mood in which he wanted to
preserve the moments that would never come to him again on this earth?
She hesitated in silence. She saw him stir in the darkness as if he
could not make up his mind to sit down on the bench. But suddenly he
scattered the embers with his foot and sank on the ground against her
feet, and she was not startled in the least to feel the weight of his
head on her knee.
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