"But I was, he thought,
proper; although it tore and beat and pounded me till I was more often
ill than not. Young William nearly grew up and, because of him, I was
sure I had controlled it; but he was killed. Still, in five or six
years it would be over; and now you, I--"
"Nothing has happened," he heavily reiterated; "nothing has or can
happen. We are neither of us completely young; and, as you say, in a
few years all will be over, solved. We are both, it seems, happily
married." She interrupted him to cry, "Is anyone happily married? Don't
we fool ourselves and doesn't life fool us?"
"It's the best course in a bad affair."
"Bah!" She was infuriated at him. "You are like the others--worms in
chestnuts. It is bad because you are contented. I hate life as much as
you do, far more; but I am not satisfied; how could anyone be?"
He, too, had risen, and stood close before her. "Don't make a mistake
about me," he warned her; "there are a great many men whom it would be
safer to tell this to. If I haven't had such a sharp struggle as you,
I've been wondering--yes, when I should have been happiest--about the
uselessness of most of living. I'm not safe at all."
"I don't want to be safe," she whispered.
With an involuntary and brutal movement he took her in his arms and
kissed her with a flame-like and intolerable passion. She made no
effort to avoid him, but met his embrace with an intensity that
rivalled his own.
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