"
"Till we die," she replied. "What else do you expect? You have sold our
freedom, and we must pay the price."
"No; it shall end. I will end it. I can endure it no longer."
"You are still young. You will perhaps have forty years more to
live--all like this--as dull and empty. It is the price we must pay."
"No," he repeated, "it shall end. I swear that I will go on like this
no longer."
"You had better go to London and walk in Piccadilly to get a little
society."
"What do you care what I do or where I go?"
"We will not reproach each other, Harry."
"Why--what else do you do all day long but reproach me with your gloomy
looks and your silence?"
"Well--end it if you can. Find some change in the life."
"Be gracious for a little, and listen to my plan. I have made a plan.
Listen, Iris. I can no longer endure this life. It drives me mad."
"And me too. That is one reason why we should not desire to change it.
Mad people forget. They think they are somewhere else. For us to
believe that we were somewhere else would be in itself happiness."
"I am resolved to change it--to change it, I say--at any risk. We will
leave Louvain."
"We can, I dare say," Iris replied coldly, "find another town, French
or Belgian, where we can get another cottage, behind high walls in a
garden, and hide there.
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