Always night--night--night without beginning
or end."
And Hollister still had no words to comfort her. He could only hold
her close, kiss her glossy brown hair, feeling all the while a
passionate sympathy--and yet conscious of a guilty gladness that she
could not see him--that she could not look at him and be revolted and
draw away. He knew that she clung to him now as the one clear light in
the darkness. He was not sure that she (or any other woman) would do
that if she could see him as he really was.
Her sobs died in her throat. She leaned against him passively for a
minute. Then she lifted her face and smiled.
"It's silly to let go like that," she said. "Once in awhile it comes
over me like a panic. I wonder if you will always be patient with me
when I get like that. Sometimes I fairly rave. But I won't do it
often. I don't know why I should feel that way now. I have never been
so happy. Yet that feeling came over me like a suffocating wave. I am
afraid your wife is rather a temperamental creature, Bob."
She ended with a laugh and a pout, to which Hollister made appropriate
response.
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