Only his rather terrible appearance was photographed upon her
soul, away beneath her consciousness. She knew that, in spite of his
playfulness, his eyes could not change from their darkened vacancy,
they were the eyes of a man who is dead.
'Ah, this is Miss Brangwen,' he said, suddenly rousing as she entered,
announced by the man-servant. 'Thomas, put Miss Brangwen a chair
here--that's right.' He looked at her soft, fresh face with pleasure.
It gave him the illusion of life. 'Now, you will have a glass of sherry
and a little piece of cake. Thomas--'
'No thank you,' said Gudrun. And as soon as she had said it, her heart
sank horribly. The sick man seemed to fall into a gap of death, at her
contradiction. She ought to play up to him, not to contravene him. In
an instant she was smiling her rather roguish smile.
'I don't like sherry very much,' she said. 'But I like almost anything
else.'
The sick man caught at this straw instantly.
'Not sherry! No! Something else! What then? What is there, Thomas?'
'Port wine--curacao--'
'I would love some curacao--' said Gudrun, looking at the sick man
confidingly.
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