“I love you,” he rasps. For a moment he looks shocked, as though he cannot believe what he just said. “I love you,” he repeats, both declaration and confession. “Clara! Clara, my darling, I love you. To the very depths of my worthless heart and being. The battle is lost—the war is done. You’ve won. You’ve conquered and destroyed me. Love me or loathe me, it makes no difference now.” He strokes my cheek, my neck, smooths hair from my forehead. Gazes at me as though beholding the very source of all life. “Though you cut me a thousand times, still would I come back to you. I’d crawl on my knees,
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