Diary - II
[July 21st.]
Ansel seems to have reached the limits of his patience.
He is now resorting to a clumsy, indirect manner of questioning, something he would never have done before, to ask whether I will follow him or pursue my ideals.
Ansel... you already know my answer.
Yet, from the beginning, you have not trusted me, nor believed in that possibility.
Have you confined me within some preconceived framework? Stubbornly using the information you possess, what image have you molded of me in your mind?
...No, it is not entirely your fault. If it were not for my presumptuousness, my secret attempts to uncover your mysteries, my desire to help you—if I had confessed earlier, perhaps the image you hold of me would be much better.
But doing so would mean losing my only chance, my sole opportunity to assist you.
Because you trust no one, including me, you would never... reveal your secrets to anyone.