"I know that, and I’m glad for it, but I can’t shake off this feeling. Is it just guilt? Guilt, that life has been good to us, that we’ve had love while those others died like rats in a corner?" His voice trembled; he looked at the sienna weave of the bedspread in the lamp’s mild glow. "How long can the Peace go on? The old despise us while the young see through us. Things must change, and how could they be better? It can only be worse for us...Sweetheart..." He met her eyes. "I remember the days when we had nothing, not even the air to breathe, and the rot crept in all around us. Everything we’ve gained since then has been sheer profit to us, but it’s not been real...What’s between us two is real, that’s all. Tell me that if this all collapses, you’ll still be with me..."