Iwastheoffender，andIknewitThatknowledgetransformedmypityintopassiveendurance，and，eventually，intoblindhat~thesameinstinct，Isuppose，whichpromptsamantosavagelystamponthespiderhehasbuthalfkilledAndwiththishateinmybosomtheseasonof1882cametoanend。
NextyearwemetagainatSimla-shewithhermonotonousfaceandtimidattemptsatreconciliation，andIwithloathingofherineveryfibreofmyframeSeveraltimesIcouldnotavoidmeetingheralone；andoneachoccasionherwordswereidenticallythesameStilltheunreasoningwailthatitwasalla“mistake“；andstillthehopeofeventually“makingfriends。”ImighthaveseenhadIcaredtolook，thatthathopeonlywaskeepingheraliveShegrewmorewanandthinmonthbymonthYouwillagreewithme，atleast，thatsuchconductwouldhavedrivenanyonetodespairItwasuncalledfor；childish；unwomanlyImaintainthatshewasmuchtoblameAndagain，sometimes，intheblack，fever-strickennight-watches，IhavebeguntothinkthatImighthavebeenalittlekindertoherButthatreallyisa“delusion。”I
couldnothavecontinuedpretendingtoloveherwhenIdidn’t；
couldI？Itwouldhavebeenunfairtousboth。
Lastyearwemetagain-onthesametermsasbeforeThesamewearyappeal，andthesamecurtanswersfrommylipsAtleastI