Birkin stood and listened and was satisfied.
Ursula was dazed, her mind was all gone. She felt she had fallen to the
ground and was spilled out, like water on the earth. Motionless and
spent she remained in the gloom. Though even now she was aware,
unseeing, that in the darkness was a little tumult of ebbing flakes of
light, a cluster dancing secretly in a round, twining and coming
steadily together. They were gathering a heart again, they were coming
once more into being. Gradually the fragments caught together
re-united, heaving, rocking, dancing, falling back as in panic, but
working their way home again persistently, making semblance of fleeing
away when they had advanced, but always flickering nearer, a little
closer to the mark, the cluster growing mysteriously larger and
brighter, as gleam after gleam fell in with the whole, until a ragged
rose, a distorted, frayed moon was shaking upon the waters again,
re-asserted, renewed, trying to recover from its convulsion, to get
over the disfigurement and the agitation, to be whole and composed, at
peace.
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