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Gróin trailed off in the middle of his story, a blissful, loving expression on his face. At his break, Lily’s thoughts had quickly slid back to Posco. How many times had she seen a look similar to this on his face? He had loved her, hadn’t he? Then why? Why, oh, why? Could he have forgotten about her so quickly? She could not fathom doing the same to him; even during the times she spent with Tommy Banks, his face had a way of popping into her memory and staying there. Her gaze strayed briefly to the inn once more – what was he doing inside? She could torment herself for ages with these questions and never come up with a comforting answer.
Gróin seemed to come back to himself and looked at her. When he asked her again if something was wrong, she realized that her dispirited thoughts must be showing on her face, and she shook her head, replacing the gloomy expression with a slight smile. “No, I have told you all my problems already. Please, do continue with your story. It sounds as if it should be happy, yet you said something about being forced to leave your home…” Her interest was genuine, and she vowed to herself that for the rest of the story she would put thoughts of Posco out of her head and listen attentively. Gróin seemed to need this – he was so attuned to others’ feelings, yet did not seem to expect the same in return. Was there no one that he could tell his problems to? He looked at her closely, as if unsure whether she was telling the truth. “Really, I’m fine. Don’t bother with me; finish your story.”
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