Now it was Charlotte’s turn to be angry. “And you criticize me for thinking you weak-willed! Henry, I’d never marry you for that reason, never in a thousand years. I’d give up the Institute in a moment before I’d give up . . .” Henry was staring at her, his hazel eyes wide, his ginger hair bristling as if he had run his hands madly through it so many times that he was in danger of pulling it out in chunks. “Before you’d give up what?” “Before I’d give you up,” she said. “Don’t you know that?”
