Luck intervened. The day remained whole, unsullied. Was it luck, though? I might have not found that order I looked for, might not order have come with this complete break from the past, if I had pursued where I had been so moved? But I had my doubts then, I didn't know whether during that day I had simply become what he had wanted me to be. Still, I wonder, wouldn't it have been better, or at any rate more amusing, and always at this moment the talk of the past and then I feared to hear about it. I never wish even in my imagination to enter his life. I never wished to hear of the thing that bound him, the pettinesses by which he had already been imprisoned. I never wanted my pain to mingle.
Do you understand the language that I use? I am describing a failure, a deficiency and these things can be so private.
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