His face was a study of
inner conflict, as rage and compassion warred inside him. Mary had
little doubt (nor was she wrong) which side would win.
"Why?" he asked flatly, stopping a few feet away. "Why didn't you wait
for me? If you had. . .none of this would have happened."
The girl slowly lowered the body, then stood to face him. "In the name
of God, Stephen, is there any part of you that isn't utterly cruel? Do
you think I don't know that?" This was too much. Her patience expired,
and she no longer cared for the consequences.
"Am I supposed to feel worse because I also hurt your feelings?
Am I supposed to equate that with the death of two men, one of them my
cousin? Damn you! If you possessed the least sensitivity you'd have
known three days ago there could be nothing romantic between us. And
today. If I had thought for one moment that you would listen to
reason, and let me
explain---"
"What would you explain!" he cried hotly. "That you have been sleeping
with a traitor? That you prefer his filthy Scottish bed to mine? That
you are a whore, like all the others? Well? Why don't you speak!"
"I am very sorry for you," she said at last.
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