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“Fairness is an illusion, love. Her reaction is rooted in sentiment, not reason.”
“Can you say it?” she whispered. “If you say it, I will believe you. I will forgive you.” A tear rolled down her cheek, carrying the moonlight with it. “I will stay, and you may keep me forever, whether there be a babe or no.”
With Charlotte, however, he’d had no defense. No whisky to dull his senses. No bed sport to reduce her to a mere source of pleasure. Not even a chance to avoid her silly discussions about radical economic theories. She had crept up while he lay in bed listening to her laugh, and she had claimed his heart as though the black thing had been hers all along.
He was a lost, hollow man without his Charlotte. Pathetic, really. He continued to walk and speak, eat and drink, wash and dress. He even slept an hour or two each night. However, everything had turned gray, as though coated by dust.
