Thenpresentlyweresumedourmonstrous，momentousdialogue。I
can’tnowmakeouthowlongthatdialoguewenton。Itspreaditself，Iknow，inheavyfragmentsovereitherthreedaysorfour。IremembermyselfgroupedwithMarion，talkingsittingonourbedinherroom，talkingstandinginourdining-room，savingthisthingorthat。Twicewewentforlongwalks。Andwehadalongeveningalonetogether，withjadednervesandheartsthatfluctuatedbetweenahardanddrearyrecognitionoffactsand，onmypartatleast，astrangeunwontedtenderness；becauseinsomeextraordinarywaythiscrisishaddestroyedourmutualapathyandmadeusfeeloneanotheragain。
Itwasadialoguethathaddiscrepantpartsthatfellintolumpsoftalkthatfailedtojoinontotheirpredecessors，thatbeganagainatadifferentlevel，higherorlower，thatassumednewaspectsintheintervalsandassimilatednewconsiderations。Wediscussedthefactthatwetwowerenolongerlovers；neverbeforehadwefacedthat。Itseemsastrangethingtowrite，butasIlookback，IseeclearlythatthoseseveraldayswerethetimewhenMarionandIwereclosesttogether，lookedforthefirstandlasttimefaithfullyandsteadfastlyintoeachother’ssoul。Forthosedaysonly，therewerenopretences，Imadenoconcessionstohernorshetome；weconcealednothing，exaggeratednothing。Wehaddonewithpretending。Wehaditoutplainlyandsoberlywitheachother。Moodfollowedmoodandgotitsstarkexpression。
Ofcoursetherewasquarrelingbetweenus，bitterquarreling，andwesaidthingstooneanother——longpent-upthingsthatbruisedandcrushedandcut。Butoveritallinmymemorynowisaneffectofdeliberateconfrontation，andthefigureofMarionstandsup，pale，melancholy，tear-stained，injured，implacableanddignified。
“Youloveher？”sheaskedonce，andjerkedthatdoubtintomymind。