In his mind was the heavy futility of repeating the same thing senselessly until it lost all meaning.
"I apologize about the poem," he said, because he knew that it was not his place to speak of it.
"That's all right," she said with hollow cheerfulness. Her mouth jerked and her eyes darkened. "Please don't go yet."
The palms of his hands were moist. He looked around the apartment again, and he did not want to ask, to bring it out in cruel words. It was not the sort of thing one asked.
"I really must go," he repeated levelly.
She put her hands on his shoulders. "Please...."
And then he saw that she intended to bribe him in the only way she knew how, and he said, "Don't worry, I won't tell Don."
He saw relief on her face, and then he was out of the apartment, shaken. He felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach, and he was sickened and his hand trembled. He wanted to talk to someone and try to explain it.
Hertha was waiting when he came out to the street.