Deeply shaken, the man (who we now know as Matthew) abruptly stood up, and backed slowly toward the door. Her eyes pleaded with him, and she almost spoke again, but was too proud to beg. Every inch of his body yearned to stay by her side and never leave, but he would not allow himself to; he told himself that she was worth nothing to him now, and that he would separate himself from her as soon as she was in better health. He practically leapt down the steps, and one cracked as he came down on it too hard. He paused for a moment in the foyer, sliding as he tried to stop, and wondered briefly if he should ask for his coat. Deciding that it wasn’t worth it, he fled. Cursing himself for his weakness and cowardice, it was still five blocks before he could stop to catch his breath. He hated himself thoroughly for what he had done, allowing her to fall in love with him and to hold such power over him. He was half proud of (and half disgusted with) himself for being able to leave her, as it proved that he still had some control. He didn’t allow himself to think about her; didn’t let himself wonder what would have happened if she still had money. He almost wondered if their children would have had her smile, but quickly caught himself, and shook his head. Whatever he tried, though, he could not get the image of her out of his head. She had been entirely at his mercy, completely vulnerable to him, and he had cut her away, as surely as if he had used a knife. He hadn’t expected the scar that it would leave on him. If it had been light enough, the sun may have glinted of a small tear as it trickled down his face. But as it was, there was no sun to reveal this, and whatever emotion he felt was hidden by the fog. Feeling a sudden chill as the fog swirled around him, and wishing he had not left quite so fast as to leave his coat there, Matthew wrapped his arms around his thin figure and shivered. Replacing his top hat, which had stayed in his hands along with his cream gloves, he again walked briskly down the cobbled streets. And a thin boy crouched out of sight on the rooftops, a bit more hungry, and with more bruises hidden beneath his tatters, and watched the bobbing top hat through the fog.