"I'm a brute to you," she said, "but I can't help it."
She sat up and gathered together the strayed masses of her hair.
"Do you think," she said, "you could get me a cup of tea from the servant's breakfast?"
He brought the tea, and as they drank together their mutual memories revived.
"I have," said she, "the most awful recollection of having been a brute to you."
"Never mind, Jinny," he said, and flushed with the sting of it.
"I don't. That's the dreadful part of it. I can't feel sorry when I want to. I can't feel anything at all."
She closed her eyes helplessly against his.
"It isn't my fault. It isn't really me. It's It."
He smiled at this reference to the dreadful Power.