“She is nothing,” he said. “She is the hand that takes hold of him, the shape that stands for things unseen.”
“What things unseen?”
My cousin shrugged his shoulders. “Something we never find in life,” he said. “Something we are always seeking.”
Melville made no reply. She scrutinised his face for a time, and then looked out at the sunlight again.
“Do you want him back?” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want him back?”
“I feel as if I had never wanted him before.”
“And now?”