women, and you looked at me and I knew you hated me. You wouldn't know
me. You went by without speaking and left me there."

"My God--you thought I could do that?"

"I dreamed it. You don't think in dreams. You feel. You see things."

"You see things that don't exist, that never can exist, things you've
thought about people. If I thought that about myself, Jeanne, I'd blow my
brains out now, so that it shouldn't happen."

"That wasn't the worst dream. The third was the worst. You were in a
dreadful, dangerous place. Something awful was happening, and you wanted
me, and I couldn't get to you."

"No, that wasn't the worst dream. I _did_ want you, and you knew it."

She thought: "He cares. He doesn't want to care, but he does. And he
trusts me. I shall have to tell him ..."

"There's something," she said, "I've got to tell you."

* * * * *

He must have known. He must have guessed.

He had listened with a gentle, mute attention, as you listen to a story
about something that you remember, that interests you still, his eyes
fixed on his own hands, his clear, beautiful face dreamy and inert.