She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. And I get myself dirty. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. She twisted her fingers tightly. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack.
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