“Begun what?”
“Life.”
“Life!” she reechoed, with a queer thrill.
“It’s life,” he said. “There’s no keeping clear. And if you do keep clear you might almost as well die. So if I’ve got to be broken open again, I have.”
She did not quite see it that way, but still. …
“It’s just love,” she said cheerfully.
“Whatever that may be,” he replied.
They went on through the darkening wood in silence, till they were almost at the gate.
“But you don’t hate me, do you?” she said wistfully.
“Nay, nay,” he replied. And suddenly he held her fast against his breast again, with the old connecting passion. “Nay, for me it was good, it was good. Was it for you?”
“Yes, for me too,” she answered, a little untruthfully, for she had not been conscious of much.
He kissed her softly, softly, with the kisses of warmth.
“If only there weren’t so many other people in the world,” he said lugubriously.
She laughed. They were at the gate to the park. He opened for her.
“I won’t come any further,” he said.