Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. He moved slightly, and she went on, with a slight catching of her breath: “It’s a bother and disturbance, but you see—” She had to go through with it now, because she could think of nothing but her preconceived words. The lovers broke into passionate knowledge of themselves and each other, and then, a jarring intervention, came King Mark amidst the shouts of the sailormen, and stood beside them. But I can give it its name now. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat.
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