She did not
realise this. She did not remember that her face was altered. The
expression in his eyes made her forget it.
"I wanted something of you."
"What?"
He let the oars go, and sat down on the little seat. They were close to
each other now. The sides of the boats touched. He did not answer her
question.
"I know I've no business to speak to you," he said. "No business to come
after you. I know that. But I was always a selfish, violent, headlong
brute, and it seems I can't change."
"But what do you want with me?"
Suddenly she remembered--put her hands up to her face with a swift
gesture, then dropped them again. What did it matter now? He was the last
man who would look upon her in life. And now that she remembered her own
condition she saw his. She saw the terror of his life in his marred
features, aged, brutalised by excess. She saw, and was glad for a moment,
as if she met someone unexpectedly on her side of the stream of fate. Let
him look upon her. She was looking upon him.
"What do you want?" she repeated.
"I want a saviour," he said, staring always straight at her, and speaking
without tenderness.
"A saviour!"
For a moment she thought of the Bible, of religion; then of her sensation
that she had been caught by a torturer who would not let her go.
"Have you come to me because you think I can tell you of saviour?" she
said.
And she began to laugh.
"But don't you see me?" she exclaimed.
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