They mentioned a railway station, a public walk, a florist.
All at once she stopped and hid her face in her hands.
He took her wrists, with a sad slowness that showed how much he was used to these spells, and spoke to her without knowing what to say, stammering and drawing as close as he could to her.
"Why are you crying?
Tell me why you are crying." She did not answer.

Then she took her hands away from her eyes and looked at him.
"Why?
Do I know?
Tears are not words.".

.

.

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