Gerald bent above her and was looking out over her shoulder. Already he
felt he was alone. She was gone. She was completely gone, and there was
icy vapour round his heart. He saw the blind valley, the great
cul-de-sac of snow and mountain peaks, under the heaven. And there was
no way out. The terrible silence and cold and the glamorous whiteness
of the dusk wrapped him round, and she remained crouching before the
window, as at a shrine, a shadow.
'Do you like it?' he asked, in a voice that sounded detached and
foreign. At least she might acknowledge he was with her. But she only
averted her soft, mute face a little from his gaze. And he knew that
there were tears in her eyes, her own tears, tears of her strange
religion, that put him to nought.
Quite suddenly, he put his hand under her chin and lifted up her face
to him. Her dark blue eyes, in their wetness of tears, dilated as if
she was startled in her very soul. They looked at him through their
tears in terror and a little horror.
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