He went over and leaned on the back of her chair.
“Tired—of what?” he asked.
“Of everything—of myself most of all.”
“And of everybody?” smiling down at her.
“One usually tires of self last.”
“And you want to leave me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, not you, Ferdinand—the others.”
“Shall I send them away?” he said eagerly.
“And make this lonely place more lonely still!”
“I despise the miserable place,” he exclaimed.