I can’t love you. ” He stepped past her to the door and closed it. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. Who walked you home?\" Mike asked her, his voice tinged with jealousy, as she passed the garlic bread. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on.
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