Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XII

           

           ShefeltthatDarrowwaslookingatherandreadingherthoughts,andthecolourflewtoherface.“Yes:itwaswhenIheardyouwerecomingthatItoldhim.IwantedhimtofeelasIfelt...itseemedtoounkindtomakehimwait!”Herhandwasinhis,andhisarmrestedforamomentonhershoulder.

           “Itwouldhavebeentoounkindtomakehimwait.”

           Theymovedsidebysidetowardthestairs.Throughthehazeofblissenvelopingher,Owen’saffairsseemedcuriouslyunimportantandremote.Nothingreallymatteredbutthistorrentoflightinherveins.Sheputherfootontheloweststep,saying:“It’snearlyluncheontime—Imusttakeoffmyhat...”andasshestartedupthestairsDarrowstoodbelowinthehallandwatchedher.Butthedistancebetweenthemdidnotmakehimseemlessnear:itwasasifhisthoughtsmovedwithherandtouchedherlikeendearinghands.

           Inherbedroomsheshutthedoorandstoodstill,lookingaboutherinafitofdreamywonder.Herfeelingswereunlikeanyshehadeverknown:richer,deeper,morecomplete.Forthefirsttimeeverythinginher,fromheadtofoot,seemedtobefeedingthesamefullcurrentofsensation.

           Shetookoffherhatandwenttothedressing-tabletosmoothherhair.Thepressureofthehathadflattenedthedarkstrandsonherforehead;herfacewaspalerthanusual,withshadowsabouttheeyes.Shefeltapangofregretforthewastedyears.

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