'You are a free agent.' He was suspended finely and perfectly in this extremity.

She hung motionless for some seconds, then she sat down again.
'If there is no love, what is there ?' she cried, almost jeering.
'Something,' he said, looking at her, battling with his soul, with all his might.
'What ?' He was silent for a long time, unable to be in communication with her while she was in this state of opposition.
'There is,' he said, in a voice of pure abstraction; 'a final me which is stark and impersonal and beyond responsibility.

So there is a final you.

And it is there I would want to meet you--not in the emotional, loving plane--but there beyond, where there is no speech and no terms of agreement.

There we are two stark, unknown beings, two utterly strange creatures, I would want to approach you, and you me.