I craved it. I used to lie awake
thinking about you, in a fever of protest because you could not be
there with me, in a perfect passion of resentment at the circumstances
that kept you away; until it seemed to me that I had never had you,
that there was no such man, that all our life together was only a
dream. Think what the war did to us. How it has left us--you scarred
and hopeless; I, scarred by my passions and emotions. That is all the
war did for any one--scarred them, those it didn't kill. Oh, Robin,
Robin, life seems a ghastly mockery, sometimes. It promises so much
and gives so little."
She bent her head. Her shoulders shook with sobs she tried to
strangle. Hollister put his hand on the thick coils of honey-colored
hair. He was sorry for her--and for himself. And he was disturbed to
find that the touch of her hair, the warm pressure of her hands on his
knee, made his blood run faster.
The curious outbreak spent itself. She drew herself away from him, and
rising to her feet without a word she walked rapidly away along the
path by the river.
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