[...] Ida is right there and yet he touches the other woman, but in the same way, which makes it worse. Love is only possible where there is innocence, a tiny little bit of innocence, a little bit of trust. The knowledge that you can’t be substituted, that you are not replaceable or interchangeable, that the hands of the beloved and a stranger can’t be the same, that they can’t touch a stranger in the same way they touch someone familiar and loved, that hands, when they can choose, will always choose the beloved. They are quiet in the taxi on their way home. The experience turns them on. They have sex all night and in the morning, it turns them on, but makes them sick, they can’t go to the seminar they are meant to attend. Arnold can, Ida can’t, she is unable to get up, Ida is sick, they have to call and say so: Ida is sick, it is true, she can’t get out of bed. Turned on by it all night, perhaps he thinks they both are, but she is alone.