"No," he said.

"Then I will make a list of books and magazines for you."

She sat down and wrote a list on a slip, and arose and handed it to him.

She was gazing at him again, gazing at the tragic face. Then she
whispered:

"I believe in you.... Is there anything else?"

And again she reached out her hand and he clasped it. Her fine faith
smote something hard in him, shriveled it like fire, and all at once,
miraculously, divinely, a little liquid gush of lovely joy, of wonderful
beatitude began to rise from his heart, to rise and overflow and fill
him. He was being cleansed, he had expiated his guilt by confessing it
to his accuser and receiving her strange and gentle forgiveness; tears
came to his eyes, came and paused on the lashes and trickled down. He
gulped a sob.

"I can go on now," he said.

She looked at him, wondering.

"You can!" she whispered.

And he went out, a free man again, at the beginning of a new life.