A hollow sigh. “No. I didn’t think at all, I only acted. She was so frightened for her father, and I was . . . vulnerable, I suppose. Please, don’t be angry. I couldn’t help it. It’s who I am.” The anger surged afresh, as though she’d called it forth. “Allow me,” he said, “the same consideration that you demand for yourself. I can’t help it, it’s who I am. Yes, you could not help running after her, and in that moment I meant nothing to you. I know this, I try to accept it, but I cannot understand, and that is what angers me. Tonight might have been the end of you, Chava. Who would I remember
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