It was evening now. Electric lights were twinkling. Gay paper lanterns hung out from nearby buildings. The confusion of street cries floated up faintly to our ears.
My time had come.
But it was hard to speak directly. First I told her how wonderfully she has helped me, and to what a practical end.
All she said to this was—very softly, gazing off at the lights—“I'm glad.”
I rambled on. Which would not do. My time had come, and I was letting it slip away. It was characteristic of me, I thought almost bitterly—always, except in the one narrow channel of my work, blundering ineffectually, missing the realities of life.
I gathered my forces, with a great effort. I felt sober, stem, all at once.
“Listen, please,” I began.
Instantly I knew that she had caught the change in me. I thought I felt her nerves tighten, though I was not touching her. I blundered on.
“You have come to know me,” I said.