He raised his hands and let them fall on the arms of his chair.
“Why do they cry?” she repeated. “Because they have not been brought into a world which is closed to them at the very moment when they see its beauty?... Because they are not born to die?”
She went away again and came back and sat in her chair with a strained expression on her face, as though she had to explain something to one who was slow of comprehension:
“It’s no use,” she said.
Her voice was harsh. She swung her body to and fro and her thoughts hunted for words in which she could say what she wanted in such a way that it would be settled once and for all and could not be misunderstood.
Then her looks fell on Cordt, as he sat there by her side, shattered and tired, with closed eyes and nerveless hands. She saw the pain she was giving him. She wished to undo and repair it and the tears broke out in her:
“Cordt!”
She took his hand and it lay lifeless in hers.
“Can’t you help me?”
“No, Adelheid.”