"Do you miss her?" Newt asked.
"Do you still love her?"
He said it as though he were asking for the time or whether it was raining outside. Hermann twisted in his seat to look at him, but Newt’s back was still turned.
"Of course I do. She was my wife."
"Oh. Well, it makes sense."
The silence that followed was so tense and heavy that Hermann felt almost suffocated by it.