question of necessity, Basil had said—in other words, of his demand. And he had enforced that demand by a threat … Yes, he might go away—and she could not let him go. Necessity …
She sat down and took up her damp clay, but her fingers were stiff with cold. She shivered, and all of a sudden tears came to her eyes. Why had she hurt Basil so? How had she been able to look at him, to see that he was suffering, and almost rejoice in it? What had come to her? "My God, what has come to you, Teresa?" he had cried. Yes, what? An instinct of cruelty, for one thing. Never before had she deliberately made any person suffer, as she had been conscious of doing just now. A feeling of recklessness, carelessness of herself … Crayven … that day in the forest …
She did not regret it. If Basil suffered for it, she must suffer for it, that was all. Of course she would not let him go. What he demanded she must yield. There was something behind his demand, something more than his own egotism. Necessity …
