"
McTeague stirred in his chair, looking at the walls of the room,
avoiding the other's glance. He nodded his head, then suddenly broke
out:
"I can't help it. It ain't my fault, is it?"
Marcus was struck dumb; he dropped back in his chair breathless.
Suddenly McTeague found his tongue.
"I tell you, Mark, I can't help it. I don't know how it happened. It
came on so slow that I was, that--that--that it was done before I knew
it, before I could help myself. I know we're pals, us two, and I knew
how--how you and Miss Sieppe were. I know now, I knew then; but that
wouldn't have made any difference. Before I knew it--it--it--there I
was. I can't help it. I wouldn't 'a' had ut happen for anything, if
I could 'a' stopped it, but I don' know, it's something that's just
stronger than you are, that's all. She came there--Miss Sieppe came to
the parlors there three or four times a week, and she was the first
girl I had ever known,--and you don' know! Why, I was so close to her I
touched her face every minute, and her mouth, and smelt her hair and her
breath--oh, you don't know anything about it. I can't give you any idea.
I don' know exactly myself; I only know how I'm fixed.
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