When Shade mentioned that letter again, the blue-eyed middle-aged psychiatrist showed a somewhat embarrassed expression:
"It's private. I planned to read it once I got on the train."
"You really never considered it?"
"No, I didn't."
The doctor shook his head slightly and looked at Shade with perfect calm:
"I know how she feels, and she truly is a good woman. But you know my situation. Before that matter is resolved, I can't drag someone else into it."
"That makes sense. I just find it regrettable."
"Wanting a good ending is admirable, but sometimes reality is simply like this. Regret... yes, regret."
Looking at the corner of the envelope sticking out from between the pages of his notebook, he recalled saying goodbye to the two owners of Green Lake Inn that morning. With a sigh in his heart, he took out the envelope, folded it, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat.
The station inspector carrying a signal lamp was already ushering people away from the carriages, making them let go of the hands they had clasped with the young soldiers inside. The steam train's boiler continued building pressure. After its loudest whistle, the axle drove the connecting rods on the wheels, and the rods set the wheels turning with a clack-clack-clack.
Black smoke billowing from the locomotive's chimney further melted the falling snow above. Amid farewell after farewell, the train slowly began to move, carrying the young people toward that unfamiliar place.
One black carriage after another flashed past before their eyes until even the rear of the train disappeared from sight. The people on the platform were still there, and the thick steam fog had yet to disperse. Only the tracks were empty, yet Shade somehow felt that the place had suddenly become exceptionally hollow.