painting in oil

not yet crash down.
'Once more, why this refusal?' he asked.
'Formerly,' I answered, 'because you did not love me; now, I reply,
because you almost hate me. If I were to marry you, you would kill me.
You are killing me now.'
His lips and cheeks turned white- quite white.
'I should kill you- I am killing you? Your words are such as
ought not to be used: violent, unfeminine, and untrue. They betray
an unfortunate state of mind: they merit severe reproof: they would
seem inexcusable, but that it is the duty of man to forgive his fellow
even until seventy-and-seven times.'
I had finished the business now. While earnestly wishing to erase
from his mind the trace of my former offence, I had stamped on that
tenacious surface another and far deeper impression: I had burnt it
in.
'Now you will indeed hate me,' I said. 'It is useless to attempt to
conciliate you: I see I have made an eternal enemy of you.'