She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. But he. 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. Considering how little he lets her have.
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