He did not move away from her touch so quickly this time.

If he could have loved her in her lifetime. If he could have. He had realized it too late that he would have wanted that, to have loved her, if he could have. But he realized it too late and she had died with that confession unspoken and unheard.

And now here they were, she in this life-after-death. But he still could not love her, though he might wish it. Never could.

And now here they were, in the small morning after some great thing had passed.

"I don't recall..." he began.