"Mr. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. His room was last at the end of one winding corner.
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