In a way, she found it fantastic that two intelligent, nervous and critical human beings should arrive at this degree of intimate unity, at this point exhausted of aspirations, that all they could say was 'I love you' with a sort of sob in their voice, for there was nothing to add. She knew that there was nothing else to add, nothing more to be hoped for, that this was what is called completeness, but she asked herself what she would do later to survive the memory of this completeness. She was happy, she was afraid. They told each other everything: their childhood, their past and always, always they returned to the last few months, recounting endlessly, like all lovers, their first meetings, the tiniest details of their affair. They wondered with the stupor (real and a little foolish) so normal, how they could have doubted for so long their true sentiments. But if they revelled in their troubled and turbulent past together, they did not dream of a mutual future that was to be peaceful and lasting.
