I looked at England, and thought I'd done with it.'
'Why England?' he asked in surprise.
'I don't know, it came like that.'
'It isn't a question of nations,' he said. 'France is far worse.'
'Yes, I know. I felt I'd done with it all.'
They went and sat down on the roots of the trees, in the shadow. And
being silent, he remembered the beauty of her eyes, which were
sometimes filled with light, like spring, suffused with wonderful
promise. So he said to her, slowly, with difficulty:
'There is a golden light in you, which I wish you would give me.' It
was as if he had been thinking of this for some time.
She was startled, she seemed to leap clear of him. Yet also she was
pleased.
'What kind of a light,' she asked.
But he was shy, and did not say any more. So the moment passed for this
time. And gradually a feeling of sorrow came over her.
'My life is unfulfilled,' she said.
'Yes,' he answered briefly, not wanting to hear this.
'And I feel as if nobody could ever really love me,' she said.
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