Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. But he was always forcing her to say and do such unexpectedly conclusive things. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way.
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