But he went away, to escape himself. He knew he must despair,
yield, give in to despair, and have done.
Ursula's face closed, she completed herself against them all. Recoiling
upon herself, she became hard and self-completed, like a jewel. She was
bright and invulnerable, quite free and happy, perfectly liberated in
her self-possession. Her father had to learn not to see her blithe
obliviousness, or it would have sent him mad. She was so radiant with
all things, in her possession of perfect hostility.
She would go on now for days like this, in this bright frank state of
seemingly pure spontaneity, so essentially oblivious of the existence
of anything but herself, but so ready and facile in her interest. Ah it
was a bitter thing for a man to be near her, and her father cursed his
fatherhood. But he must learn not to see her, not to know.
She was perfectly stable in resistance when she was in this state: so
bright and radiant and attractive in her pure opposition, so very pure,
and yet mistrusted by everybody, disliked on every hand.
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