Since he now understood the impossibility of finding himself in that part of her heart where she guarded a great love for other persons and places, he decided that he must remain an anonymous benefactor. Better for her to think another that savior on whom she and her family could look with gratitude. He shuddered at the idea that she would feel herself beholden to him, that her affection should stem from gratitude rather than a regard wholly unconnected to obligation. If she were ever to look on him with favor, he never wanted that favor to be the result of something as paltry as gratitude. What man whose whole body and soul burned with love wanted the object of that love to look on him with mere gratitude? He stopped and looked out the last in the row of windows and answered the question aloud. “I had rather be the object of her hate!” He about-faced and moved toward the stairs, not the least deterred in his purpose and now even more impatient to see the whole business through to its end.
My goodness, where have you been, Wanda Luce? Love your review of Joyce, love your Work In Progress progressions!
ReplyDeleteBarbara b