lives as we are suffering now—as I am suffering, for sometimes, Petra, I don’t think you suffer at all—rather than to look at each other with the shadow of an ugly scandal between us. You don’t understand. You don’t realise what a difference these things make to a woman. It does not make any difference to a man, but even you would see the stain on me forever afterwards, and would turn against me.
Tell me you don’t really mean it, darling. There must be some other way out. Let us think very hard and find out. Or if you really think so little of me, tell me so, and we will say goodbye again—for always, this time. I expect I was wrong to stick to our agreement before. You wanted to be released then, and you wouldn’t have asked it if you hadn’t been tired of me already in your heart. Let’s end it all, Petra. Perhaps I shall die, and then you will be free. I feel unhappy enough to die—and if I’m too strong for wretchedness to kill me, there are always easy ways out of it all.
Your heartbroken Lolo