ot kiss," she said. "I do not know how."
"There is no need to kiss."
"Yes. I must kiss. I must do everything."
"There is no need to do anything. We are all right. But thou hast many clothes."
"What should I do"
"I will help you."
"Is that better"
"Yes. Much. It is not better to thee"
"Yes. Much better. And I can go with thee as Pilar said"
"Yes."
"But not to a home. With thee."
"No, to a home."
"No. No. No. With thee and I will be thy woman."
Now as they lay all that before had been shielded was unshielded. Where there had been roughness of fabric all was smooth with a smoothness and firm rounded pressing and a long warm coolness, cool outside and warm within, long and light and closely holding, closely held, lonely, hollow-making with contours, happymaking, young and loving and now all warmly smooth with a hollowing, chest-aching, tight-held loneliness that was such that Robert Jordan felt he could not stand it and he said, "Hast thou loved others"
"Never."
Then suddenly, going dead in his arms, "But things were done to me."
"By whom"
"By various."
Now she lay perfectly quietly and as though her body were dead and turned her head away from him.
"Now you will not love me."
"I love you," he said.
But something had happened to him and she knew it.
"No," she said and her voice had gone dead and flat. "Thou wilt not love me. But perhaps thou wilt take me to the home. And I will go to the home and I will never be thy woman nor anything."