He had no newspaper himself; he did not read them; he had told me that before. He took out a German book, Der Hittitische Kult, and began to read it, but soon he put it down. I was looking at him, and now he looked at me.
He said:
‘Not even that, when you are here. I wonder if you know how much that means?’
He leaned across, and took my hands in his.
He said:
‘Perhaps, you will make me human. Perhaps I shall be quite different when I am married to you.’
I bent forward too and kissed his forehead; I felt curiously moved.
I thought:
‘Perhaps, he really needs me; perhaps I have something to give him that he really wants . . . beyond mere falling in love.’
I felt that there were depths in him I had not fathomed.