She might have anticipated this state of
things, and have armed herself to encounter it, but somehow she
had not done so. For more than five months she had been living
among people who dressed well; the contrast was too suddenly
forced upon her. She was especially susceptible in such matters,
and had become none the less so under the demoralising influence
of her misfortunes. True, she soon began to feel ashamed of her
shame, but that could not annihilate the natural feeling and its
results.
'I don't love him. I can't love him.' Thus she spoke to herself,
with immutable decision. She had been doubtful till now, but all
doubt was at an end. Had Reardon been practical man enough to
procure by hook or by crook a decent suit of clothes for this
interview, that ridiculous trifle might have made all the
difference in what was to result.
He turned again, and spoke with the harshness of a man who feels
that he is despised, and is determined to show an equal contempt.
'I came to ask you what you propose to do in case I go to
Croydon.'
'I have no proposal to make whatever.
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