He went over to her and kissed her fine, fragile hair, touching her wet cheeks gently.
“Don’t cry,” he repeated, “don’t cry any more.”
He held her head close against him, very close and quiet.
At last she was still. Then she looked up, her eyes wide and frightened.
“Don’t you want me?” she asked.
“Want you?” His darkened, steady eyes puzzled her and did not give her play.
“Do you wish I hadn’t come?” she asked, anxious now again for fear she might be out of place.
“No,” he said. “I wish there hadn’t been the violence—so much ugliness—but perhaps it was inevitable.”
She watched him in silence. He seemed deadened.
“But where shall I stay?” she asked, feeling humiliated.