That filled her with extraordinary delight, to see the smile cross his
face, reflected from her face. She remembered that was how a baby
smiled. It filled her with extraordinary radiant delight.
'You've done it,' she said.
'What?' he asked, dazed.
'Convinced me.'
And she bent down, kissing him passionately, passionately, so that he
was bewildered. He did not ask her of what he had convinced her, though
he meant to. He was glad she was kissing him. She seemed to be feeling
for his very heart to touch the quick of him. And he wanted her to
touch the quick of his being, he wanted that most of all.
Outside, somebody was singing, in a manly, reckless handsome voice:
'Mach mir auf, mach mir auf, du Stolze,
Mach mir ein Feuer von Holze.
Vom Regen bin ich nass
Vom Regen bin ich nass-'
Gudrun knew that that song would sound through her eternity, sung in a
manly, reckless, mocking voice. It marked one of her supreme moments,
the supreme pangs of her nervous gratification.
Pages:
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868