'Quite a remarkable young woman,' said the father to Gerald, when she
had gone.
'Yes,' replied Gerald briefly, as if he did not like the observation.
Mr Crich liked Gudrun to sit with him for half an hour. Usually he was
ashy and wretched, with all the life gnawed out of him. But as soon as
he rallied, he liked to make believe that he was just as before, quite
well and in the midst of life--not of the outer world, but in the midst
of a strong essential life. And to this belief, Gudrun contributed
perfectly. With her, he could get by stimulation those precious
half-hours of strength and exaltation and pure freedom, when he seemed
to live more than he had ever lived.
She came to him as he lay propped up in the library. His face was like
yellow wax, his eyes darkened, as it were sightless. His black beard,
now streaked with grey, seemed to spring out of the waxy flesh of a
corpse. Yet the atmosphere about him was energetic and playful. Gudrun
subscribed to this, perfectly. To her fancy, he was just an ordinary
man.
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