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  5. He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white...

He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it's the same kind of hunger.

Margaret Atwood
White, Rose, Looks
Margaret Atwood (2016). “The Handmaid's Tale”, p.296, Random House
He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it's the same kind of hunger.