"Thanks, no. I've come to say good-bye."
"Good-bye?"
"Yes. I'm leaving Park Hill—leaving New York. I'm going into a small Minnesota hospital to finish my internship. Then I'll probably practice out there somewhere."
Behind the new glitter of her eyes there was stark misery. "Frank—Frank—what went wrong with us?"
The appeal was a labored whisper.
"I don't know, Rhoda. I should know but I don't. I should have known what was wrong so I could have done something about it. It just went sour, I guess."
She turned and walked to the window. He wondered if there were tears in her eyes.
"Good-bye, Rhoda."
"Good-bye, Frank. I'm sorry."