She listened attentively, nodding in assent, and I managed to finish my speech, which was followed by a silence.
"It is true," she said after a while, "but Chuan-sheng, I feel that you have changed. Is it true? Tell me the truth."
The directness of this question stunned me, but I immediately recovered and explained my ideas and my proposal: the hewing of a new road, the creation of a new life, the necessity of this decisive step if we were both to avoid the fate of perishing. Summoning up all the resolution I was capable of, I concluded with the following words: "Moreover, nothing needs to hold you back from resolutely embarking upon a new life because . . . You want me to tell you the truth. That is a fine thing, for people must not be false. Now I'll tell you the truth: nothing needs to hold you back because I no longer love you. This is a fortunate thing for you, because now you can live your own life without worrying about me . . . "
I had expected violent reaction to this, but there was only silence. Her face turned deathly pale and yellowed, but she recovered almost immediately. Her eyes sparkled with their childlike innocence, and while trying to avoid my eyes, flitted about the room like those of a hungry child looking for its mother.
I could bear it no longer. Fortunately it was in the morning. I went out into the cold wind and hastened toward the public library.
There I saw The Friend of Liberty and found that it had published all the short pieces that I had sent. This was a surprise and gave me some new hope. There are yet many ways to live, I said to myself, but the present mode will not do.
So I started to visit friends with whom I had long lost con-
