At the temple there is a poem called “Loss” carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.
And thus by sleeping little, and reading much, the moisture of his brain was exhausted to that degree that at last he lost the use of his reason.
A man always finds it hard to realise that he may have finally lost a woman’s love, however badly he may have treated her.