OLIVER. Yet you didn't hate me, Anabel.

ANABEL. No, Oliver--I was AWFULLY fond of you. I trusted you--and I
trust you still. You see I knew how fond Gerald was of you. And I
had to respect this feeling. So I HAD to be aware of you: and I HAD
to be conscious of you: in a way, I had to love you. You understand
how I mean? Not with the same fearful love with which I loved Gerald.
You seemed to me warm and protecting--like a brother, you know--but a
brother one LOVES.

OLIVER. And then you hated me?

ANABEL. Yes, I had to hate you.

OLIVER. And you hated Gerald?

ANABEL. Almost to madness--almost to madness.

OLIVER. Then you went away with that Norwegian. What of him?

ANABEL. What of him? Well, he's dead.

OLIVER. Ah! That's why you came back?

ANABEL. No, no. I came back because my only hope in life was in
coming back. Baard was beautiful--and awful. You know how
glisteningly blond he was. Oliver, have you ever watched the polar
bears? He was cold as iron when it is so cold that it burns you.
Coldness wasn't negative with him. It was positive--and awful