Sitting there, staring out into the fog, he knew the truth—that he was a man doomed to be alone all his days. That did not mean that he could not make much of his life, have many friends, much good fortune—but in the last intimacy he could go to no one and no one could go to him.
He bent down and kissed her forehead. She stirred, moved, sat up, resting back against him, her feet on the ground.
"Where am I?" she whispered. "Oh yes." She clung to his arm. "No one has come? We are still alone?"
"No," he answered her gently, "no one has come. We are still alone."
VIII
"What time is it?" she asked.
He looked at his watch. "Half-past two."
"We have missed that train now."
"I don't know. And anyway there's probably another."
"And David?"