He shook his head in almost desperate regret. "I'm ... I'm afraid not, uh—" Snorer. "It's about something else, Leonora."
"Oh." She came around the chair, and he furtively wiped his cheek with a hasty hand. She sat down facing him, smiling with entreaty. "Would you read it to me anyway, David? Please, dear?"
"Well, it's not ... not finished yet—not right."
"You don't have to, David. It's not important. Not really." She sighed deeply.
He picked up the notebook, his breath cold in his constricted throat. "All right," he said, the words coming out huskily, "I'll read it. But it's not finished yet."
"If you don't want to—"
He began to read hurriedly, his eyes locked on the notebook, his voice a suppressed hoarse, spasmodic whisper.
"Such citadels of our kind's own
As fortify no peace.
"No wall can offer shelter,
No roof can shield from pain.
We cannot rest; we are the damned;
We must go forth again.