“Yes,” she answered.
“Do you remember that evening when I met you on the sea?”
“After I had been to Frisio’s? Yes I remember it.”
“You had been reading what I wrote in the wonderful book.”
“And I was wondering why you had written it.”
“I had no special reason. I thought of that saying. I had to write something, so I wrote that. I wonder—I wonder now why long ago my conscience did not tell me plainly something. I wonder it did not tell me plainly what you were in my life, all you were.”
“Have I—have I really been much?”
“I never knew how much till I thought of you permanently changed towards me, till I thought of you living, but with your affection permanently withdrawn from me. That night—you know—?”
“Yes, I know.”
“At first I was not sure—I was afraid for a moment about you. Vere and I were afraid, when your room was dark and we heard nothing. But even then I did not fully understand how much I need you. I only understood that in the Palace of the Spirits, when—when you hated me—”