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Constance laid aside her letters, and took up one of the many books that strewed the table: it was a volume of one of our most popular poets. "I hate poetry," said Godolphin, languidly. "Here is Machiavel's history of the Prince of Lucca," said Constance, quickly. "Ah, read that, and see how odious is ambition," returned Godolphin.
I don't love you in the least. That is why I won't marry you. There's something that draws me to you against my will sometimes yes, I know that! But I hate it, and I'm afraid of it. It's not what I like in you, it's what I like least. It's something like hypnotism, I'm sure. I'm ashamed of it, because it is what has made me flirt with you. Yes, I have!
Even when I have not suffered, my life has been a pale, tasteless blank with nothing but a little poor music and worse philosophy to break the monotony. The little pleasure I have had from any source has been enjoyed alone, and no joy is complete unless one may give at least a part of it to another. If one has a pleasure all to himself, he is apt to hate it at times, and this is one of the times.
I don't doubt somebody or other hates 'em and hates you and everything you do, or ever did, or ever can do. He is all right; there is nothing you or I like that somebody does n't hate. Was there ever anything wholesome that was not poison to somebody?
A thrill of conviction pervaded me that at last my fingers were on a "story" that no magazine editor, however much he might hate to recognize the worth of new authors, could afford to reject. The newspaper office files of clippings gave me all the information necessary for a brief biography; the lithograph should serve for an illustration.
And this suffering at our own hands goes on till at last the tables are completely turned against self-love, and till what was once to us the dearest thing in the whole world becomes, as Pascal says, the most hateful. We begin life by hating the men, and the things, who hurt us. We hate the men who oppose us and hinder us; the men who speak, and write, and act, and go in any way against us.
It's over now. 'But it's not over, she said wretchedly. 'It's not. And if you only knew what I was going to do. You'd hate me. You'd never speak to me again. It's too awful..... And I don't WANT to. I don't want to. He waited for her to become quieter. 'The only thing I couldn't forgive, and that I don't understand, is why you keep punishing yourself.
She shook hands unconsciously with him and with Louis. The two Cravens turned to the door. Wharton advanced into the room, and let them pass. "You have been in a hurry to tell your story!" he said, as Louis walked by him. Contemptuous hate breathed from every feature, but he was perfectly self-controlled. "Yes " said Craven, calmly "Now it is your turn."
"To go among those fellows, wild as they are, and bring Jack Landis away to this house." "Bring him here," said Donnegan with indescribable bitterness, "so that she may pity his wounds? Bring him here where she may think of him and tend him and grow to hate me?" "Grow to fear you," said the colonel. "An excellent thing to accomplish," said Donnegan coldly.
"Oh, Jeff," she cried passionately, "don't make me hate you!" He started at that as an animal starts at the goad, and in an instant he took her suddenly and fiercely by the shoulders. "Hate me, then! Hate me!" he said, and kissed her again savagely on her white, panting lips as he had kissed her the night before, showing no mercy. She did not resist him. Her strength was gone.
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