" Then she waited for a letter, to no avail. Then she wrote it was better to be frank, she could give the impression that he liked, it was not true, she preferred not to see him as often as she had asked a kindly imprudent.
He replied that he had indeed never believed that was more than good enough famous and which he had never intended to abuse the point of coming so often bored.
Then she wrote that she loved, she would never love him. He replied that she was joking.
It ceased to write, but not first think of him. It also came. "
The indifferent
Marcel Proust
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