. . . I will. I hardly believe myself capable of it, but I must, and so I will, because I cannot fathom doing anything less than that. The bare minimum you deserve, my dearest. If I can't give you that . . . well. I hope you will act accordingly.

[He begins to lean in, seized by a moment of reluctance, warring visibly with the current of desire he can't fight off. Can he trust himself? He isn't certain. But if not in this, in what? And he hardly wants to think he can never trust himself in anything again.]