into his throat and choking him. He was confused, too, with a sense of impotent rage.
"And after you ran away she told Mabelle she was never to enter the house again. . . . Now I haven't any one."
No, she hadn't any one, but she didn't know yet how alone she really was.
"Naomi," he said quietly. "Naomi . . . listen to me . . . try to control yourself."
"Yes. . . . Yes. . . . I'm trying to." Her pale, homely face was even paler with weeping. Her eyes were swollen beneath the transparent lashes and her nose was red.
"Naomi . . . would you like to have a house of your own?"
"Oh, Philip . . . yes."
"I don't mean a whole house, but a place to live . . . two or three rooms where you'd be away from my mother."
"Yes . . . yes. I'd do better. I'd take care of things . . . if I had a chance in my own place. Oh, Philip—if you'd only be kind to me."
He stroked her hand suddenly, but it was only because he pitied her. "I try to be kind, Naomi."
"You've been so hard to me . . . just like a stone—ever since we left Megambo. Oh, I knew it . . . I knew even when. . . ." She broke off suddenly, without finishing. Philip looked away, sick with misery. He pitied her, but he could not love her. She went on and on. "Out there I had something to live for . . . I had my work. I loved it. It was the only life I'd ever known. It was everything. And here . . . there's nothing. I don't know how to live here."
