“You say that he is alive. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. “I have not the least idea who he is. She could not help but swoon a little. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. That would come later. I don’t want you to talk to me now. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for.
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