He saw Marguerite nearly every day, and her insistence that their relationship was to be viewed as "spiritual," not "romantic," seemed to be honored more in the breach than the observance. Or, as Marguerite would occasionally concede, amorousness could have spirituality at its core, and so could Eros. On a few difficult occasions he was a mere confidant, supporting her in her not-yet-completely-concluded separation from the poet. Those days had their bitterness, but he managed the bravest face possible while with her. And he managed to restore his own spirits afterward, though with a difficulty he compared to ascending the slick, mossy walls of a well. Their love had moments of ecstasy that he'd never experienced before and hadn't imagined possible. Such moments did not flow only from lovemaking; they could arise from the most innocent of gestures, such as smiling deeply at one another upon first meeting, or holding hands on a London street shadowy enough to make that safe. Or from a few inspired words.
