They used to go upstairs together on tiptoe, each with a candle, and on the third landing exchange reluctant goodnights. They used to kiss. He remembered well her eyes, the touch of her hand and his delirium . . . .
But delirium passes. He echoed her phrase, applying it to himself: “What am I to do?”
The Boarding House, 1914
“So, when you think of her… do you think of her as a friend or as a lover?” she asked.
“Is there a difference?” he replied.
A snippet from a conversation had long ago.