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“Yes, I did. For no reason — except I wanted to have some free room round me — to loose myself —” “You mean you wanted love?” flashed Josephine, thinking he said lose . “No, I wanted fresh air. I don’t know what I wanted. Why should I know?” “But we must know: especially when other people will be hurt,” said she. “Ah, well! A breath of fresh air, by myself. I felt forced to feel — I feel if I go back home now, I shall be FORCED— forced to love — or care — or something.” “Perhaps you wanted more than your wife could give you,” she said. “Perhaps less. She’s made up her mind she loves me, and she’s not going to let me off.” “Did you never love her?” said Josephine. “Oh, yes. I shall never love anybody else. But I’m damned if I want to be a lover any more. To her or to anybody. That’s the top and bottom of it. I don’t want to CARE, when care isn’t in me. And I’m not going to be forced to it.” The fat, aproned French waiter was hovering near. Josephine let him remove the plates and the empty bottle. “Have more wine,” she said to Aaron. But he refused. She liked him because of his dead-level indifference to his surroundings. French waiters and foreign food — he noticed them in his quick, amiable-looking fashion — but he was indifferent. Josephine was piqued. She wanted to pierce this amiable aloofness of his. She ordered coffee and brandies. “But you don’t want to get away from EVERYTHING, do you? I myself feel so LOST sometimes — so dreadfully alone: not in a silly sentimental fashion, because men keep telling me they love me, don’t you know. But my LIFE seems alone, for some reason —” “Haven’t you got relations?” he said.