She was looking away from him, gripping his hand, staring blindly into the darkness. She seemed not to be speaking to him. He did not answer.
Her hand relaxed its grip upon his, and she said, drying her tears,
“I despise myself....”
“For crying?” he asked.
“No—for what we’ve done.”
He thought he knew what she meant. “For—playing at marriage?”
“Yes,” she said strangely, “playing at marriage....”
He had a moment of clairvoyance, a moment in which his mind saw into the one same realm of memory with hers.... He saw them, beside another camp-fire, talking....
“Not afraid,” he repeated aloud the words she had said to him then, “not afraid of life or of any of the beautiful things life may bring us....”
“Felix!” she cried out. “Don’t!”