She said nothing.

I grew conscious of unbearable pain, the pain of returning life.

She was going away.

I should be alone.

The future began to exist again, looming up like a vessel through thick mist, silent, phantasmal, overwhelming--a hideous future of irremediable remorse, of solitude, of craving.
"You are going back to work with Churchill," she said suddenly.
"How did you know ?" I asked breathlessly.