On their final morning on Corfu, the lover witnesses a dream

The sun cut across the blanket, soaking the wood in beams. A fat housefly fell through the open window and tangled itself in the curtain for a moment before going out again. Romano, watching from the bed, felt keenly sick for home.

The two of them had most of the day before the ferry arrived. They would take it together, parting ways in Italy. Romano regretted not having the chance to spend much time with Isadora, but Elizabeth had made it clear that he would have to choose one or the other. He only wanted to sketch the dancer. Isadora had a classical figure, it was a singular opportunity. But he relented, not caring enough to make it an argument.

The trip was a success overall. He was grateful to have met Elizabeth and passed a few evenings with her, time spent pleasantly for them both. He listened to her sleeping talk, stroking her thigh as she repeated, again and again, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.