Their illicit pleasure has been fulfilled.
They get up and dress quickly, without a word.
They come out of the house separately, furtively; and as they move off down the street a bit unsettled, it seems they sense that something about them betrays what kind of bed they've just been lying on.
But what profit for the life of the artist: tomorrow, the day after, or years later, he'll give voice to the strong lines that had their beginning here.
