His eyes were wide, glued to that spot before Euterpe brought the coats down to the floor---he gasped, his eyes not blinking even once. She approached, and he could feel the blood boil beneath her beautiful, angelic figure. He was in wretched state, afraid that she was going to rip his fingers from the bone in her anger. She had every right to be angry. Did he blame her? No. Was he the cause? Yes. He was wracked with his own guilt, the past creeping up and trying to drag him back to the grave.