Normally, I’d lie and connive and do whatever necessary to make you take me into the south.”
“But …”
More tears began to flow. “But that thing …”
“Thing? What thing?”
“That thing … in one’s head … that tells you when something would be wrong to do. It won’t let me do it.”
Feeling a sudden high level of annoyance, Gwenvael carefully asked, “Do you mean your … conscience?”
Her tears turned into hysterical sobs, and she went down on her side, her head dropping into his lap.
“Dagmar! Everyone has a conscience.”
“I don’t!”
“Of course you do.”
“I’m a politician, Gwenvael! Of course, I don’t have a conscience. At least I didn’t. Now I’m cursed with one. And it’s your fault!”
Somehow he knew that last bit would happen.

Author: G.A. Aiken