It went straight to his heart every time she said, 'You're nice,' in that voice of hers, with those eyes. In the taxi, he settled Josette's head on his shoulder and wondered, 'What can I do for her?' Help her become an actress, yes, but she didn't especially like the theatre; it wouldn't fill that emptiness he felt in her. And what if she weren't a success? She wasn't at all satisfied with the obsure futility of her life, but what could he possibly interest her in? Try talking to her? Unlocking her mind? He wasn't, after all, going to drag her through museums, take her to concerts, lend her books, explain the world to her. He gently kissed her hair. He would have had to be in love with her. With women it always came down to that; you had to love them with an exclusive love.