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The next time I see Paula she will know exactly how much time she's going to give me and I will have no idea of her plans in this regard. As always I will be willing to give her an infinite amount of my time and what I receive from her in return will seem like very little. In all probability, the time she ends up giving me the next time I see Paula will in fact be very little. Our conversation, then, will be brief, although I will be desperate to prolong it; and further hampered by my tears it will be strained as well. In fact I'm afraid that the next time I see Paula I will be required to live through one of the worst moments of my life. Pieces of the conversation will return to haunt me hourly, every day, for years. I will forget that Paula used the conversation to withdraw from me even further. I will become convinced that she was really offering me an opportunity to rise in her estimation, one which I was too upset to notice, much less seize. Paula will seem infinitely kind and good in my recollection of the next time I see her, while I will become hateful to myself for having behaved in exactly the wrong way, doing the only thing that could have made her give up hope for us—letting her see she makes me cry.
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