He trembled, and his fingers tightened on hers.

“Why?” he asked, his heart beating. “You don't know?”

“I do,” she said.

They continued without saying any more, walking along opposite horizons, hand in hand across the intervening space, two separate people. And he trembled as if a wind blew on to him in strong gusts, out of the unseen. He was afraid. He was afraid to know he was alone. For she seemed fulfilled and separate and sufficient in her half of the world. He could not bear to know that he was cut off. Why could he not be always one with her?

It was he who had given her the child. Why could she not be with him, one with him? Why must he be set in this separateness, why could