She was out the door with her characteristic stealth ... out the door before he even finished his sentence. Her stealth had served them well in concealing this from the others, whatever this was. He knew it was not "true love." Not for him, and certainly not for her. For him, it was pure admiration. How many people were lucky enough to connect with, to touch, to hold, the subject of their pure, unrestrained admiration? He would never ask her, though he wondered plenty, what animated her in those moments of intensity and abandon. Perhaps one day, they would reach the point where he risked asking, but for now her feelings remained as stealth as her actions.