“He did not smile, he was neither grave, nor vindictive, nor sad; he was still. He was waiting, I think, for me to cross the space and take him in my arms again - waiting, as one waits at a deathbed for the miracle one dare not disbelieve, which will not happen. I had to get out of there for my face showed too much, the war in my body was dragging me down. My feet refused to carry me over to him again. The wind of my life was blowing me away.
'Au revoir, Giovanni.'
'Au revoir, mon cher.”