Meiden stood across from David, so close that he could almost feel his breath on his face. Green eyes stared at him with penetrating intensity.
"You're neither pathetic, nor hopeless, nor worthless." He felt the Norwegian's hand on his cheek. It was tender and warm. Caring. "Don't think like that even for a moment. After all, I already told you that thanks to you, after more than a year I could write again. For me writing is everything so... you restored my everything. Someone without value could not inspire a writer to write."
"Great inspiration," he snorted angrily. "A gardener in a sweaty T-shirt mowing the lawn. It could have been anyone. No credit to me..."
