He looked at his friend and murmured: "You are thinking of /him."/ She was sitting with her cheeks in her hands and her elbows on her knees and her face thrust forward.

She did not reply.
She /was/ thinking of him.

Doubled up, small as a child, she gazed intently into the distance, at the man who was not there.

She bowed to this image like a suppliant, and felt a divine reflection from it falling upon her--from the man who was not there, who was being deceived, from the offended man, the wounded man, from the master, from him who was everywhere except where they were, who occupied the immense outside, and whose name made them bow their heads, the man to whom they were a prey.
Night fell, as if shame and terror were in its shadows, over this man and woman, who had come to hide their embraces in this room, as in a tomb where dwells the Beyond.
.

.