The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. She looked in the rear-view mirror. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead.
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