Everything has changed. Nothing has changed, at all. She has put back my flesh; but flesh will close, will seal, will scar and harden. I hear her go to my drawing-room; I watch her sit, cover up her face. I wait, but she does not look— I think she will never look honestly at me, again. I meant to save her. Now I see very clearly what will happen, if I do— if I draw back from Richard's plot. He will go from Briar, with her at his side. Why should she stay? She will go, and I shall be left— to my uncle, to the books, to Mrs Stiles, to some new meek and bruisable girl ... I think of my life— of the hours, the minutes, the days that have made it up; of the hours, the minutes and days that stretch before me, still to be lived. I think of how they will be— without Richard, without money, without London, without liberty. Without Sue.
And so you see it is love— not scorn, not malice; only love— that makes me harm her, in the end.
Fingersmith by Sarah Waters





















