'...He remembered once when the grass was damp and she came to him on hurried feet, her thin slippers drenched with dew. She stood upon his shoes nestling close and held up her face, showing it as a book open at a page.
"Think how you love me," she whispered. "I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there'll always be the person I am tonight."
But Dick had come away for his soul's sake, and he began thinking about that. He had lost himself- he could not tell the hour when, or the day or the week, the month or the year. Once he had cut through things, solving the most complicated equations as the simplest problems of his simplest patients. Between the time he found Nicole floundering under a stone...'
excerpt from Fitzgerald, deep into Book 2 of TENDER IS THE NIGHT. I don't think they'll be missed. Too many more like these to notice.