The grey calm was floating away
from her spirit, and she began to realise what had happened that
afternoon. She remembered that just before Robin came she had made up her
mind that, though she did not love him, he held the matter of her life or
death in his power. Well, if that were so, he had decided. The dice had
been thrown and death had come up. No hand had been stretched out in the
darkness to the child.
She looked round her. On every side she saw smooth water, a still surface
which hid depths. At the prow of the boat shone a small lantern, which
cast before the boat an arrow of light. And as the boat moved this arrow
perpetually attacked the darkness in front. It was like the curiosity of
man attacking the impenetrable mysteries of God. It seemed to penetrate,
but always new darkness disclosed itself beyond, new darkness flowed
silently around.
Was the darkness the larger voice?
She did not say this to herself. Her mind was not of the definite species
that frames such silent questions often. But, like all human beings
plunged in the strangeness of a terror that is absolutely new, and left
to struggle in it quite alone, she thought a thousand things that she did
not even know she thought, her mind touched many verges of which she was
not aware. There were within her tremendous activities of which she was
scarcely conscious. She was like a woman who wakes at night without
knowing why, and hears afterwards that there was a tumult in the city
where she dwelt.
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