Yet step by step he watched himself approaching that dubious
state, dreading a little the drift toward a definite emotion, yet
reluctant to draw back.
When Doris went about with him, frankly finding a pleasure in his
company, he said to himself that it was a wholly unwise proceeding to
set too great store by her. Chance, he would reflect sadly, had swung
them together, and that same blind chance would presently swing them
far apart. This daily intimacy of two beings, a little out of it among
the medley of other beings so highly engrossed in their own affairs,
would presently come to an end. Sitting beside her on a shelving rock
in the sun, Hollister would think of that and feel a pang. He would
say to himself also, a trifle cynically, that if she could see him as
he was, perhaps she would be like the rest: he would never have had
the chance to know her, to sit beside her hearing the musical ripple
of her voice when she laughed, seeing the sweetness of her face as she
turned to him, smiling. He wondered sometimes what she really thought
of him, how she pictured him in her mind.
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