...of admission

He sat for a long time in his overcoat, damp and steaming from the rain, hat in hand and silent. She told him about her husband and children, of her bitter years, of her old father. She had, incidentally, brought him with her. He intended to visit a spa. He was there to reassure her jealous husband. They were now doing well. Her husband had made good use of his mediocrity. The others, the speculators with the inborn instinct for business, had been overwhelmed by the storms they had conjured up, like warriors fallen in adventures they had themselves provoked. Herr von Derschatta, however, was one of those mediocre bureaucrats of the business world who gain much though they risk nothing. She spoke in the jargon which is the mother tongue of Director Generals, of the 'position' that permitted certain things but not yet, or no longer, permitted others. A few strangers entered the room where they were sitting. She ceased her account. But the silence that ensued was capable of expressing all the admissions and completing all the half-admissions that she had minimized and half-suppressed earlier. This silence disconcerted her the more in the presence of the other people. As if they were both as young as they had once been in the cafe, the fortuitousness of the external situation left them at a loss. Outside it was raining. Here strangers were sitting. 'If she comes to my room now,' he thought, 'it is decided. She is expecting it.' He said nothing.

[The Silent Prophet, Roth, J.]