Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. I may want you. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. “It does nothing but sit there. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. And I get myself dirty. I knew it.
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