‘I had meant never to drink again,’ he went on.
‘You were so kind to me. But then, when you didn’t come—’
‘You doubted me, Diaz. You ought to have been sure of me.’
‘I was wrong.’
‘No, no!’ I said. ‘It was I who was wrong. But I never thought that an hour and a half would make any difference.’
There was a pause.
‘Ah, Magda, Magda!’—he suddenly began to weep; it was astounding—‘remember that you had deserted me once before. Remember that. If you had not done that, my life might have been different. It would have been different.’
‘Don’t say so,’ I pleaded.
‘Yes, I must say so. You cannot imagine how solitary my life has been. Magda, I loved you.’
And I too wept.