Her figure, dim-white in the darkness, neither withdrew from nor swayed toward him. But he thought that he saw her head half turn with a sorrowful intent.
“Jem,” she said again, “I came here to—”
“I love you, Marcia,” he repeated with a still insistence.
“Wait. I am going away.”
“When?”
“Very soon. This week. Perhaps sooner.”
“For how long?”
“Will you not understand, Jem? I am going away.” The quiet repetition fell, chill and deadening, upon his heart.
“From me?”
“From everything here.”