Michael didn't know what else to say. She sat in front of him, silent and expressionless, giving him no indication of her feelings. His own words had utterly failed him, yet his battered conscience urged him to continue. Perhaps some poetry can help. Shakespeare's always good, but… which sonnet fits? Ah yes, the 109th. Michael took Sheridan's hand and quoted:
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from my self depart
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie.
That is my home of love; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe though in my nature reigned
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That
