The warden said: 'I've tried to persuade her to go to a safer place, but she refuses to leave.' He smiled complacently, showing me his power over her. I found it hard to accept. I looked round the room: the chair, a small mirror, a bed, paperbacks on the table, dust everywhere, fallen plaster thick on the floor. Her grey loden coat hung from a hook. I saw no other personal belongings except a comb and a square of chocolate in torn silver paper. I turned away from the man and addressed her directly, trying to speak as if he was not there. 'You don't seem very comfortable here. Why not go to a hotel, somewhere further away from the fighting?' She did not answer, shrugged her shoulders slightly. A silence followed.
Troops marched past under the window. He went across, opened the shutters a crack and looked down. I muttered hurriedly, 'I only want to help you,' moved my hand towards hers, which was snatched back. 'I don't trust you. I don't believe a word you say.' Her eyes were wide and defiant. I knew I would never succeed in making contact with her while he was in the room. Nothing was to be gained by staying longer. I left.
Outside the door, I heard his laugh, his step on the floorboards, his voice: 'What have you got against that one?' Then her voice, changed, blurred with tears, high-pitched, hysterical. 'He's a liar. I know he's working with you. You're both the same, selfish, treacherous, cruel. I wish I'd never met either of you, I hate you both! One day I'll go . . . you won't see me again . . . ever!' I walked on down the passage, stumbling over the rubble, kicking it aside. I had not thought of providing myself with a torch.
For the next few days I considered taking her away from him to a neutral country. Theoretically it was quite possible. Occasional ships still called at the local port. It was a matter of speed, secrecy and exact timing. Success depended on getting to sea before we were followed. I began making cautious inquiries. The answers could be bought. The difficulty was that no one could be trusted. The person I was paying for information might sell my questions to somebody in the warden's pay. This made the whole thing highly dangerous. I was nervous; I could not afford to take such risks; nevertheless, the risk had to be run.
Voices whispered secrets: names, addresses, destinations, departures. 'Go to . . . ask for . . . hold yourself in instant readiness . . . documents . . . proof . . . ample funds. . . I needed to speak to her before taking my plans a stage further. I went to her room, heard a shot, paid no attention; shooting was going on in the streets all the time. The man emerged, shut the door behind him. I said I wanted to see her. 'You can't.' He turned the key, dropped it into his pocket, threw a pistol down on the table. 'She's dead.' A knife went through me. All other deaths in the world were outside; this one was in my body, like a bayonet, like my own. 'Who killed her?' Only I could do that. When he said, 'I did,' my hand moved, touched the gun, the barrel was hot. I could have seized it and shot him. It would have been easy. He made no move to prevent me, stood motionless, gazing at me. I looked back at him, at his face with its arrogant bone structure; our eyes met.
In an indescribable way our looks tangled together. I seemed to be looking at my own reflexion. Suddenly I was entangled in utmost confusion, not sure which of us was which. We were like halves of one being, joined in some mysterious symbiosis. I fought to retain my identity, but all my efforts failed to keep us apart. I continually found I was not myself, but him. At one moment I actually seemed to be wearing his clothes. I fled from the room in utter confusion: afterwards did not know what had happened, or if anything had.
On another occasion he met me at the door of the room, said at once: 'You're too late. The bird's flown.' He was grinning, his face wore an expression of naked malice. 'She's gone. Run away. Disappeared.' My fists clenched. 'You sent her away so that I shouldn't see her. You've deliberately kept us apart.' I started towards him in fury. Then again our looks tangled, confusion came back; a wider confusion, not of identity only, but also of time and place. Gold blue eyes flashing, the blue flash of a ring, curved cold strangler's fingers. He had fought bears and strangled them with his hands. Physically I was no match. ... As I left, I heard his voice jeering: 'That's more sensible.'
I went into an empty room. I needed time in which to collect myself. I was disturbed, I longed for the girl, could not bear to have lost her. I thought of the journey I had been planning with her beside me, which would now never take place. My face was wet as with rain, drops ran down into my mouth, tasted salt. I covered my eyes with my handkerchief, brought myself under control by a violent effort.
