... It is
as disconnected as a dream.... Already it is hardly more substantial
than a dream....
"We shall write letters. Do letters breathe faster or slower as you read
them?
"We may meet.
"Where are we likely to meet again?... I never realized before how
improbable it is that we shall meet again. And if we meet?...
"Never in all our lives shall we be really TOGETHER again. It's
over--With a completeness....
"Like death."
He came opposite the bookstalls and stopped short and stared with
unseeing eyes at the display of popular literature. He was wondering now
whether after all he ought to have let her go. He experienced something
of the blank amazement of a child who has burst its toy balloon. His
golden globe of satisfaction in an instant had gone. An irrational sense
of loss was flooding every other feeling about V.V. If she had loved him
truly and altogether could she have left him like this? Neither of them
surely had intended so complete a separation. He wanted to go back and
recall that train.
A few seconds more, he realized, and he would give way to anger.
Whatever happened that must not happen. He pulled himself together. What
was it he had to do now? He had not to be angry, he had not even to be
sorry. They had done the right thing.
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