And even the thought of her in Verrall's arms could hardly move him, because he knew that at the worst the affair must have an end. Verrall, it was quite certain, would never marry Elizabeth; young men of Verrall's stamp do not marry penniless girls met casually at obscure Indian stations. He was only amusing himself with Elizabeth. Presently he would desert her, and she would return to him - to Flory. It was enough - it was far better than he had hoped. There is a humility about genuine love that is rather horrible in some ways.
Burmese Days, George Orwell