'
She was glad and frightened. She cowered near to him.
'But what about them at home?' she said.
'Send a telegram.'
Nothing more was said. They ran on in silence. But with a sort of
second consciousness he steered the car towards a destination. For he
had the free intelligence to direct his own ends. His arms and his
breast and his head were rounded and living like those of the Greek, he
had not the unawakened straight arms of the Egyptian, nor the sealed,
slumbering head. A lambent intelligence played secondarily above his
pure Egyptian concentration in darkness.
They came to a village that lined along the road. The car crept slowly
along, until he saw the post-office. Then he pulled up.
'I will send a telegram to your father,' he said. 'I will merely say
"spending the night in town," shall I?'
'Yes,' she answered. She did not want to be disturbed into taking
thought.
She watched him move into the post-office. It was also a shop, she saw.
Strange, he was. Even as he went into the lighted, public place he
remained dark and magic, the living silence seemed the body of reality
in him, subtle, potent, indiscoverable.
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