“Yes.”
“Then why—”
“Yes, Bibbs?”
“I don't know what to say,” he cried. “It's so wonderful to hear your voice again—I'm shaking, Mary—I—I don't know—I don't know anything except that I AM talking to you! It IS you—Mary?”
“Yes, Bibbs!”
“Mary—I've seen you from my window at home—only five times since I—since then. You looked—oh, how can I tell you? It was like a man chained in a cave catching a glimpse of the blue sky, Mary. Mary, won't you—let me see you again—near? I think I could make you really forgive me—you'd have to—”
“I DID—then.”
“No—not really—or you wouldn't have said you couldn't see me any more.”
“That wasn't the reason.” The voice was very low.
“Mary,” he said, even more tremulously than before, “I can't—you COULDN'T mean it was because—you can't mean it was because you—care?”