"Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. ‘I can’t do that. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening.
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