Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. They went first to a hotel, and then out again on to the boulevards. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Very doubtful. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. . Once before—but that had been different.
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