And, most alarmingly, the delayed reaction is great like he might expect, but surely not in whatever perverse way he desires. These are her tears, brought on by sleeplessness and wine and the never-ending tourney that is her life even now, with nothing to do but wound and be wounded.

Anne's sob comes out muffled, because she can tell she is to cry before even uttering a sound. Her hand then moves to her eyes, covering them as if that would keep the weeping at bay. Everything, it is always everything, and he must continue to represent everything.

"Why do you torment me so?"