Say what you will, do what you will, revolt, break into a passion, dispute, threaten--in vain.
Isolation will conquer you.

I saw there was nothing to unite them, nothing.
She kept on in the same strain.
He seemed to be used to these sad monologues, uttered in the same tone, tremendous invocations to the impossible.

He did not answer any more.
He held her in his arms, rocked her quietly, and caressed her with delicate tenderness.

He treated her as if she were a sick child he was nursing, without telling her what was the matter.
But he was disturbed by her contact.

Even when prostrate and desolate, she quivered warm in his arms.