But the compelling voice from the darkness interrupted him.
“All?” it said.
He hesitated. Had she read his mind again?
“All?”
“The misery,” he answered, slowly. “The sorrow that has lain upon your life ever since.”
“Did you mean that? Did you only mean that?”
“No.”
“What did you mean?”
“I was thinking of his death,” he replied.
He spoke very quietly. He was resolved to have no more subterfuges, whatever the coward or the tender friend, or—the something else that was more than the tender friend within him might prompt him to try to hide.