There had not been even a sound in the whole room but that of Zen groaning in his breath, that and the thoracic pulse of Angelo as the echo of every moment of that silence. A kind of restraint perceptibly enclosed them in the room, which was dimly lit up by the pallid light through the window. It was not blinding, it was not mad. Angelo necessitated each movement with his eyes toward and with expectation.
Napatitig si Angelo sa mga mata ni Zen. Wala siyang nababasang pagtutol. Walang pag-aalinlangan. Kaya't dahan-dahan niyang inabot ang laylayan ng suot nitong damit. Sa bawat galaw ng kamay niya ay parang may kuryente na dumadaloy sa kanyang mga ugat. Ramdam niya ang init ng balat nito sa kanyang mga daliri kahit pa may saplot pa itong suot.
Isang malalim na buntong-hininga ang pinakawa
