I daresay you cannot even understand how I can speak of it now, and yet I cannot help speaking." Her manner was more natural and quiet than it had been since the moment of Kafka's appearance in the cemetery.

The Wanderer noticed the tone.
There was an element of real sadness in it, with a leaven of bitter disappointment and a savour of heartfelt contrition.

She was in earnest now, as she had been before, but in a different way.

He could hardly refuse her a word in answer.
"Unorna," he said gravely, "remember that you are leaving me no choice.
I cannot leave you alone with that poor fellow, and so, whatever you wish to say, I must hear.

But it would be much better to say nothing about what has happened this evening--better for you and for me.