Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXXII

           Itseemedtocomefromherownbreast,socloseheheldher;anditwasshewho,atlast,liftedupherfaceanddrewdownhis.

           Shefreedherselfandwentandsatonasofaattheotherendoftheroom.Amirrorbetweentheshroudedwindow-curtainsshowedhercrumpledtravellingdressandthewhitefaceunderherdisorderedhair.

           Shefoundhervoice,andaskedhimhowhehadbeenabletoleaveLondon.Heansweredthathehadmanaged—he’darrangedit;andshesawhehardlyheardwhatshewassaying.

           “Ihadtoseeyou,”hewenton,andmovednearer,sittingdownatherside.

           “Yes;wemustthinkofOwen——”

           “Oh,Owen—!”

           HermindhadflownbacktoSophyViner’spleathatsheshouldletDarrowreturntoGivreinorderthatOwenmightbepersuadedofthefollyofhissuspicions.Thesuggestionwasabsurd,ofcourse.ShecouldnotaskDarrowtolendhimselftosuchafraud,evenhadshehadtheinhumancouragetoplayherpartinit.Shewassuddenlyoverwhelmedbythefutilityofeveryattempttoreconstructherruinedworld.No,itwasuseless;andsinceitwasuseless,everymomentwithDarrowwaspurepain...

           “I’vecometotalkofmyself,notofOwen,”sheheardhimsaying.“WhenyousentmeawaytheotherdayIunderstoodthatitcouldn’tbeotherwise—then.Butit’snotpossiblethatyouandIshouldpartlikethat.IfI’mtoloseyou,itmustbeforabetterreason.”

           “Abetterreason?”

           “Yes:adeeperone.Onethatmeansafundamentaldisaccordbetweenus.Thisonedoesn’t—inspiteofeverythingitdoesn’t.

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