But was that to be sufficient for him,--so that he might now feel inwardly satisfied at leaving her, and make no further inquiry as to her fate? Could he pass on and let her be as the wine that has been drunk,--as the hour that has been enjoyed,--as the day that is past?
But what could he do? He had made good his own escape. He had resolved that, let her be woman or wild cat, he would not marry her, and in that he knew he had been right. Her antecedents, as now declared by herself, unfitted her for such a marriage. Were he to return to her he would be again thrusting his hand into the fire. But his own selfish coldness was hateful to him when he thought that there was nothing to be done but to leave her desolate and lonely in Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings.

Yet what could he do? He had made good his escape. He had resolved that he would not marry her, and he knew he had been right. Were he to return to her he would again be thrusting his hand into the fire. But his own selfish coldness was hateful to him when he thought of her left desolate and lonely in Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings.
