At last he had finished.He bent forward, leaning on his hands, looking her steadily in the face for the first time.
"It was clever of you to do this," he said; "damn clever.I was hungry, I don't mind confessing...but that's the last of it.Do you hear? I can look after myself.I know.You're feeling sorry for me.Think I'm in a dirty room with no one to look after me.Think I'm ill.I bet Amy told you I was ill.'Oh, poor fellow,' you thought, 'I must go and look after him.' Well, I'm not a poor fellow and I don't want looking after.I can manage for myself very nicely.
And I don't want any women hanging round.I'm sick of women, and that's flat.""I'm not pretending it's not all my own fault.It is.ALL my own fault, but I don't want any one coming round and saying so.AND Idon't want any pity.You've had a nice romantic idea in your head, saving the sinner and all the rest of it.Well, you can get back to your parson.He's the sort for that kind of stuff.""Indeed I haven't," said Maggie."I don't care whether you're a sinner or not.You're being too serious about it all, Martin.We were old friends.When I heard you were in London I came to see you.
That's all.I may as well stay here as anywhere else.Aunt Anne's dead and--and--Uncle Mathew too.There's nowhere else for me to go.
I don't pity you.Why should I? You think too much about yourself, Martin.It wasn't to be clever that I got these things.I was hungry, and I didn't want to eat in an A.B.C.shop.""Oh, I don't know," he said, turning away from the table.
He stood up, fumbling in his pocket.He produced a pipe and some tobacco out of a paper packet.As he filled it she saw that his hand was trembling.