“How long have you been here?” she asked.
She turned to look at him. He was older. Of course he was older. His hair had gone mostly grey, his beard was thick and unkempt, and there was a weariness in his face that had not been there before. But his eyes were the same—dark brown, almost black, with that same strange gentleness that had undone her when she was twenty-three.
“No,” she said, and her voice cracked. “You can’t. You weren’t there. You left. You just—left.”
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
She turned to look at him. He was older. Of course he was older. His hair had gone mostly grey, his beard was thick and unkempt, and there was a weariness in his face that had not been there before. But his eyes were the same—dark brown, almost black, with that same strange gentleness that had undone her when she was twenty-three.
“No,” she said, and her voice cracked. “You can’t. You weren’t there. You left. You just—left.”
