“I wish you would.”
“They’re not nice things, Felix.... I woke up last night hating you....”
Her voice was shaken.
“I’m sorry, Rose-Ann,” he said contritely. “You have a right to hate me.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not what you think. It’s something else—something you’d never guess.”
Suddenly she threw herself face down on the sand and began to cry.
He put his hand on her shoulder. She drew herself away from his touch with a convulsive movement. He looked on, hurt and baffled and frightened.
She sat up, seized his hand and pressed it desperately. “Why can’t I trust you?” she asked.
He had lost all clue to her thoughts. “I wish I could help you,” he said.
“I don’t know—perhaps I’m trying to fool myself again.... What are you really like, Felix?”