They both looked at each other and both read in each other's eyes the memory of their last embrace: the stimulus of despair.
"Very well," he repeated, more gently.
"Good-bye, Gerrit."
"Good-bye, child."
She kissed him and he her. He was ready to go. Suddenly he remembered that he had never given her anything except on that first evening in the Woods, a ten-guilder piece and two rixdollars:
"Pauline," he said, "I should like to give you something. I should like to send you something. What may I give you?"
"I don't mind having something ... but then you mustn't refuse it me...."
"Unless it's impossible...."
"If it's not possible ... then I won't have anything."
"What is it you'd like?"