And here was she, left with all
the anguish of consciousness, whilst he was sunk deep into the other
element of mindless, remote, living shadow-gleam. He was beautiful,
far-off, and perfected. They would never be together. Ah, this awful,
inhuman distance which would always be interposed between her and the
other being!
There was nothing to do but to lie still and endure. She felt an
overwhelming tenderness for him, and a dark, under-stirring of jealous
hatred, that he should lie so perfect and immune, in an other-world,
whilst she was tormented with violent wakefulness, cast out in the
outer darkness.
She lay in intense and vivid consciousness, an exhausting
superconsciousness. The church clock struck the hours, it seemed to
her, in quick succession. She heard them distinctly in the tension of
her vivid consciousness. And he slept as if time were one moment,
unchanging and unmoving.
She was exhausted, wearied. Yet she must continue in this state of
violent active superconsciousness.
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