She could see so far, as far as eternity--yet she
saw nothing. She was suspended in perfect consciousness--and of what
was she conscious?
This mood of extremity, when she lay staring into eternity, utterly
suspended, and conscious of everything, to the last limits, passed and
left her uneasy. She had lain so long motionless. She moved, she became
self-conscious. She wanted to look at him, to see him.
But she dared not make a light, because she knew he would wake, and she
did not want to break his perfect sleep, that she knew he had got of
her.
She disengaged herself, softly, and rose up a little to look at him.
There was a faint light, it seemed to her, in the room. She could just
distinguish his features, as he slept the perfect sleep. In this
darkness, she seemed to see him so distinctly. But he was far off, in
another world. Ah, she could shriek with torment, he was so far off,
and perfected, in another world. She seemed to look at him as at a
pebble far away under clear dark water.
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