almost senseless, what he said was so unexpected and so untoward.
“It is just purely selfish,” she said.
“If it is pure, yes. But it isn’t selfish at all. Because I don’t know what I want of you. I deliver myself over to the unknown, in coming to you, I am without reserves or defences, stripped entirely, into the unknown. Only there needs the pledge between us, that we will both cast off everything, cast off ourselves even, and cease to be, so that that which is perfectly ourselves can take place in us.”
She pondered along her own line of thought.
“But it is because you love me, that you want me?” she persisted.
“No it isn’t. It is because I believe in you—if I do believe in you.”
“Aren’t you sure?” she laughed, suddenly hurt.
He was looking at her steadfastly, scarcely heeding