And
here was the hope and the perfect recovery.
Blind to her, thinking only of himself, he slipped his arm softly round
her waist, and drew her to him. Her heart fainted, feeling herself
taken. But then, his arm was so strong, she quailed under its powerful
close grasp. She died a little death, and was drawn against him as they
walked down the stormy darkness. He seemed to balance her perfectly in
opposition to himself, in their dual motion of walking. So, suddenly,
he was liberated and perfect, strong, heroic.
He put his hand to his mouth and threw his cigarette away, a gleaming
point, into the unseen hedge. Then he was quite free to balance her.
'That's better,' he said, with exultancy.
The exultation in his voice was like a sweetish, poisonous drug to her.
Did she then mean so much to him! She sipped the poison.
'Are you happier?' she asked, wistfully.
'Much better,' he said, in the same exultant voice, 'and I was rather
far gone.'
She nestled against him. He felt her all soft and warm, she was the
rich, lovely substance of his being.
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