“Why not?” she said, filled with terror. He made no sign. “Why not?” she insisted. And she laid her fingers on his head.
He got up and turned to her.
“I love you, even if it kills me,” she said.
But he only turned aside again, leaned his arm against the wall, and hid his face, utterly noiseless.
“What is it?” she said. “What is it? I don’t understand.” He wiped his sleeve across his face, and turned to her.
“I haven’t any hope,” he said, in a dull, dogged voice.
She felt her heart and the child die within her.
“Why?” she said.
Was she to bear a hopeless child?
“You have hope. Don’t make a scene,” she snapped. And she went downstairs, as she had intended.