“In Emilia, I had a companion,” he said. “A friend. A clever counsel. And so much joy. We were separate creatures, of course, but from the beginning, we were also extensions of each other.” He looked at her quite sharply then. “Let me be clear: if you found a love like that, I would expect you to marry. I would expect it for your own good. But as long as our finances permit it, I could never ask you to yoke yourself to a pale imitation of what your mother and I had. I don’t expect it of myself, either. Certainly not when we could be writing books instead.”
