He was sorry for life, for its uncleanliness. He would like to go somewhere far away where clean clouds and a beautiful sea were just as God had made them. And there he would like to sit with this girl, their hearts beautifully sad.
She stroked his hair shyly with maternal fingers. He felt the caress and his heart melted. Its sin poured out leaving him exaltedly cleansed. Yes, she understood him, the ache of repentance in his soul, the nostalgia for cleanliness that hurt him so. She understood and she was telling him so with her fingers.
"Poor boy," she whispered because he was weeping. "I'm so sorry. You won't, again? Ever? Will you?"
"No," Keegan mumbled tremulously.
It was easy and exalting to confess and promise in this way, without mentioning anything by name. Just by sound.
"I'm so glad," she whispered, as if they were in church, "if I have done that for you...."
"You have," he agreed. "I feel like a ... like a dog."
"Don't...."
Her fingers were playing over his cheek. She could be bold. A man in tears was harmless. She stood up with determination and sat down close beside him. She took his head in her hands and looking with clear understanding eyes into his, shook her head sadly.
"You need a rest," she whispered. "Here ... rest like this."