There was something in the word “most” that brought them back to it. That was when they had eaten, though sparingly, when dishes had been taken away but wine left, when the flute-girls cascading endlessly sweet sound, seemed to go farther away, when the slaves had been dismissed after bringing perfumed lamps, when there was before them the round dark pearl of the richer night.
“You love me not as I love you!”
“Ah, Glaucon!—Ah, Glaucon!”
“Did you love me as I love you—You were in my mind all day—”
“And were you not in my mind?”
“I know that you went to Athena of the Victory. And then you would fare farther forth, be a nymph of Ilissus—”
“Were you not in my mind for all that?”
“No! It is not so that you would take absence, did you love me truly!”
“Did you not do many things this day? Yesterday also? Yet you swear that you love me!”
“That is a man’s work. That must go on.—But you, alas! You rove in a garden for pleasure!”