He sat down.
“What are they?”
She shook her head.
“Formless—or almost. But perhaps that adds to the uneasiness they inspire. To put them into words would be impossible.”
“Away with them!”
“Willingly.”
Her eyes seemed to be asking him questions, to be not quite satisfied, not quite sure of something.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I wonder if you have it in you to be angry with me.”
“Make your confession.”