That hurt him. I could feel him stiffen under it.
“You see, Donald,” I persisted, “I like thinking about her.”
It was cruel of me; but I had to break him.
“You can think as much as you like,” he said, “provided you stop talking.”
“All the same, it’s as bad for you,” I said, “as it is for me, not talking.”
“I don’t care if it is bad for me. I can’t talk about her, Helen. I don’t want to.”
“How do you know,” I said, “it isn’t bad for her?”
“For her?”
I could see I had roused him.
“Yes. If she really is there, all the time.”