Rufus Swallow was not a naturally sentimental man; if anything, he could be considered heartless.
To make such an unfeeling man come to harbor affection, to sprout a tender flower amidst desolate dust, that woman he loved must have held great importance to him.
If she still retained a shred of self-respect, then she shouldn't cling to that faint hope, waiting for him to love her.
Because even if Rufus Swallow did love her, the love he could offer would only be a fraction.
Yet even that fraction seemed acceptable to her.
Aria Lulu was filled with self-loathing in this state of mind. How could she debase herself so? How could she reduce herself to such a position? How could she allow a man to trample her pride so recklessly?
Aria Lulu sat on the dining chair, listening to the sound of Rufus Swallow's footsteps growing quieter until they disappeared completely.
