But she knew also that
he was completely blind, blind as a wolf looking at her. It was a
strange battle between her ordinary consciousness and his uncanny,
black-art consciousness.
'I don't know,' he replied, 'what would you like to do?'
He spoke emptily, his mind was sunk away.
'Oh,' she said, with easy protestation, 'I'm ready for
anything--anything will be fine for ME, I'm sure.'
And to herself she was saying: 'God, why am I so nervous--why are you
so nervous, you fool. If he sees it I'm done for forever--you KNOW
you're done for forever, if he sees the absurd state you're in.'
And she smiled to herself as if it were all child's play. Meanwhile her
heart was plunging, she was almost fainting. She could see him, in the
mirror, as he stood there behind her, tall and over-arching--blond and
terribly frightening. She glanced at his reflection with furtive eyes,
willing to give anything to save him from knowing she could see him. He
did not know she could see his reflection. He was looking
unconsciously, glisteningly down at her head, from which the hair fell
loose, as she brushed it with wild, nervous hand.
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