"… And when I'd gone I kept on seeing your face. It made me come back again. And the other day—I tried to get away from you. I didn't mean to come back; but I had to. I can't stand being away from you. And yet—
"… Oh well—there it is. I had to tell you … I couldn't if I didn't trust you."
"You tried to get away from me—You didn't mean to come back."
"I tell you I had to. It's no use trying."
"But you didn't want to come back…. That's why I dreamed about you."
"Did you dream about me?"
"Yes. Furiously. Three nights running. I dreamed you'd got away and when I'd found you a black thing came down and cut you off. I dreamed you'd got away again, and I met you in a foreign village with a lot of foreign women, and you looked at me and I knew you hated me. You wouldn't know me. You went by without speaking and left me there."
"My God—you thought I could do that?"
"I dreamed it. You don't think in dreams. You feel. You see things."
"You see things that don't exist, that never can exist, things you've thought about people. If I thought that about myself, Jeanne, I'd blow my brains out now, so that it shouldn't happen."