The feelings I have for her only exist as long as I am in her bed. When I leave, they disappear, both the good and the bad. It’s cruel, but my history has proven that I am cruel – cruellest of all to those I make love to. Given time and proper attention, perhaps Geraldine would show me her sensitive side, and my impressionable heart would probably give way to it. But Susannah keeps on sending her letters, and so I don’t have proper time or attention to give. This small link to her makes everything I do day to day feel inconsequential and imaginary; those letters are reality, nothing else.