His eyes were closed. After much clapping, they started. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. ‘This is not love, Marthe. "To be lonely! What is physical torture, if someone who loves you is nigh? But to be alone … as I am!… yes, and as you are! Oh, you haven't told me, but I can see with half an eye. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. . “Yes. Every word you utter puzzles me. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night.
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