"And I have not had a single new idea for a whole year. What will be the end of it?"
The fact was that they had neutralised each other, so that there was no more reaction on either side. Their life together now consisted of a comfortable silence. The need to be near each other was so great that one could not leave the room without the other following. They tried to shut themselves in their rooms in order to work, but after a short time one would knock at the other's door.
"Do you know, all this is very fine, but I am becoming an idiot?" she complained.
"You also?"
"I can neither read, think, nor write any more, and can hardly speak."
"It is too much happiness, and we must seek some society, or we shall both become silly."
The fact was that they had both ceased to converse; they were apparently so harmonious in all questions and predilections and knew each other's opinions so well that there was no further need to exchange thoughts. The same tastes, the same habits, the same naughtinesses, the same superficial scepticism had brought them together, and now they were welded into one like two pieces of the same metal. Each had lost individuality and they were one. But the memory of independence and one's own personality was still present, and a war of liberation was impending. The sense of personal self-preservation awoke, and when each wished to resume their own share, there was a strife about the pieces.
"Why don't you write?" he asked.
"I have tried, but it is always you and about you."
"Whether it is I, or someone else, it all comes to the same thing."