“Because I am afraid of the others!”
“You ... afraid?”
“Yes. You think that I do not look as if I could feel afraid? I have something....”
He hesitated.
“Well?” she asked.
“I have something that is very dear to me and about which I am very much afraid lest any should touch it.”
“And that is...?”
“My soul. I am not afraid of your touching it, for you would not hurt it. On the contrary, I know that it is very safe with you.”
She would have liked once more, mechanically, to reproach him with his strangeness: she could not. But he guessed her thoughts:
“You think me a very odd person, do you not? But how can I be otherwise with you?”