It is my fault--or hers.

What matter?
She cannot quite forget me out of mind--and I?
Has Lucifer forgotten God ?" He sighed, and a momentary light flashed in his eyes.

Something in the blasphemous strength of the words attracted the Wanderer's attention.
Utterly indifferent himself, he saw that there was something more than madness in the man before him.

He found himself wondering what encouragement Unorna had given the seed of passion that it should have grown to such strength, and he traced the madness back to the love, instead of referring the love to the madness.

But he said nothing.
"So she was born," continued Kafka, dreaming on.