And he put it back into the keyhole. When
he did that she sighed. Perhaps a doubt had again come into his young
mind. But, if so, it had come too late. He slipped away smiling, half
ironically, to himself.
Lady Holme sat still. She had wrapped a white cloth cloak round her. She
put up her hand to the disfigured side of her face, and touched it,
trying to see its disfigurement as the blind see, by feeling. She kept
her hand there, and her hand recognized ugliness vividly. After two or
three minutes she took her hand away, got up and walked to and fro in the
piazza, very near to the balustrade.
Now she was thinking fiercely.
She thought of Fritz. What would he feel when he knew? Shocked for a
moment, no doubt. After all, they had been very close to each other, in
body at least, if not in soul. And the memory of the body would surely
cause him to suffer a little, to think, "I held it often, and now it is
sodden and cold." At least he must think something like that, and his
body must shudder in sympathy with the catastrophe that had overtaken its
old companion. She felt a painful yearning to see Fritz again. Yet she
did not say to herself that she loved him any more. Even before the
accident she had begun to realise that she had not found in Fritz the
face of truth among the crowd of shams which all women seek, ignorantly
or not. And since the accident--there are things that kill even a woman's
love abruptly.
Pages:
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327