'Why did he not write to her? Why did he behave so cruelly in the end?'
'Why do you ask me?'
'You seem like you would know.'
The London air blew, and more than the cold poisoned bite of the wind, her deduction bit me, deeper. I did not say much thereafter. As our train traversed emptily below the ground, with its deafening drone, reaching the station on where we had to part - she grew impatient.
'You have to tell me - now.'
'Tomorrow - dear.'
'No, now,' she inserts. 'You will have time to think of it tomorrow, you will surely have an answer tomorrow. I want your feelings in words - now.'
The train leaves us behind, and she sits me on the bench, and as the train whirs by, my only thought was, why Green Park, was called Green Park. Parks were always meant to be green, were they not, why then, are they stating the obvious? Whose choice was it? Did it matter? It's called that now, and that's that.
'Tell me - please?' she beseeched me.
'It was all about choice, dear. That he had the choice, now to break her, as she had broken him long ago, that he had the power to affect her - now - at last, be it, in a cruel way...that did not matter. It was his justification for all the things that went amiss; that all those years of pain had been disolved in one moment of equal cruelty was soothing. The retribution for his soul, but a betrayal upon his heart. It was his choice, at last, as then, it was hers.'
'Im confused...' she said.
'I hope, you'll never be clear about these things.'