“Been a nice day,” said the person behind the desk.
“It certainly has,” said Robert Holton.
“Won’t be long until it’s winter,” said the person behind the desk.
“It won’t be long,” said Holton. He turned then and walked through the dingy lobby to the elevator.
He and the elevator boy discussed the kind of day it had been. They also decided that it would be winter soon.
His room looked no more cheerful than usual. Robert Holton sat down on the bed, leaving the room dark. It gave him a feeling of power to think that, when he chose, he could turn on a light and dispel the darkness.
He started to think of Trebling but stopped himself. There was nothing to be done now. The old friendship was gone.
Trebling had mentioned a girl named Carla. He remembered her well. She had been pretty and intense and wealthy. He had not thought about her for a long time. She had been a strange girl, gentle and understanding. He had been greatly attracted to her and she to him.
They had walked around Florence and Fiesole. She had taken him to old palaces and churches although he hadn’t wanted to go. When he had objected she told him that she was trying to show him something. He never knew what it was she wanted to show him. When he left Florence he told her that he would write: he didn’t, though, and he had not thought of her again until today.
The thing he had liked most about Carla, the thing he could remember now, was her way of understanding him. She once told him that it wasn’t necessary to finish sentences when they talked; that she knew what he would say and that he should know what she would say.