“I know... I accept all of that, Anne. Why else do you suppose I’ve been helping you to run the refuge all these years?”
“Not because you love me?”
“I loved you enough to die for you. I fail to see what harder evidence I can offer.”
“That was a very long time ago, though. Perhaps you’re regretting it.”
“I’ve had regrets. That’s undeniable, but... if I had the chance, Anne, to go back and change my decision... I’d do no such thing, I know it. I couldn’t... but I’m not proud of that fact.”
“We can work on that, dear. As long as you still love me, I don’t mind if... Oh, here we are,” she declared, as they entered a dirty, obscure little square, surrounded by a quadrangle of dilapidated tenement houses, known as “Geraldine Court” if the grimy little metal plaque in the entrance passageway
