There was a brief silence, but he hardly noticed that.
"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you," she said.
"Not at all." His eyes were looking at her, but that made no difference. There was nothing left, nothing.
He could feel himself tighten, as if he were truly waiting for something. But there was nothing to wait for.
Was there?
"Is there something wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You look—"
She never finished the sentence. The storm broke instead.
Dodd found himself weeping, twisting himself in the chair; reaching out with his hands, violently racked in spasms of grief: it seemed as if the room shook and he grasped nothing until she put her hands on his shoulders. His eyes were blind with water, his body in a continual series of spasms. He heard his own voice, making sounds that had never been words, crying for—for what? Help, peace, understanding?