But still, he must be brave. No more cowardice. That was the worst of all he had done this summer⁠—the cowardice. No more sitting tight at John’s expense. Whatever Margery said. It was sweet of her, but later it would be different. When all this was forgotten, she would remember⁠ ⁠… she would be living with him, day after day, knowing every night there was a murderer in her bed, a liar, a coward, a treacherous coward.⁠ ⁠… Very soon she would hate him. And he would hate her, because she knew. He would be always ashamed before her, all day, always.⁠ ⁠… Just now they did not mind, because they were afraid. But they would mind.⁠ ⁠… She had not even minded about Muriel, when he told her⁠—and he had told her everything. But she would mind that, too, in the end.⁠ ⁠… She would always be imagining Muriels.

No, there must be no more cowardice. It must finish now, one way or another. But there was only one way.