"Then," she said, "you'll have to go, Steven."
She did not know, in her isolation, that Rowcliffe had been going about saying that sort of thing for the last seven years. She thought it was the formidable discovery of time.
"You ought to go if you feel like that about it. Why don't you?"
"I don't know."
"You do know."
She did not look at him as she spoke, so she missed his bewilderment.
"You know why you stayed, Steven."
He understood. He remembered. The dull red of his face flushed with the shock of the memory.
"Do I?" he said.
"I made you."