Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

VII

           Hewasnowintenselyawarethathisnearnesswashavinganeffectwhichmadeitlessandlessnecessaryforhimtochoosehiswords,andhewenton,moremindfuloftheinflectionsofhisvoicethanofwhathewasactuallysaying:“Whyonearthshouldwesaygood-byeifwe’rebothsorryto?Won’tyoutellmeyourreason?It’snotabitlikeyoutoletanythingstandinthewayofyoursayingjustwhatyoufeel.Youmustn’tmindoffendingme,youknow!”

           Shehungbeforehimlikealeafonthemeetingofcross-currents,thatthenextripplemaysweepforwardorwhirlback.Thensheflungupherheadwiththeoddboyishmovementhabitualtoherinmomentsofexcitement.“WhatIfeel?DoyouwanttoknowwhatIfeel?Thatyou’regivingmetheonlychanceI’veeverhad!”

           Sheturnedaboutonherheeland,droppingintothenearestchair,sankforward,herfacehiddenagainstthedressing-table.

           Underthefoldsofherthinsummerdressthemodellingofherbackandofherliftedarms,andtheslighthollowbetweenhershoulder-blades,recalledthefaintcurvesofaterra-cottastatuette,someyoungimageofgracehardlymorethansketchedintheclay.Darrow,ashestoodlookingather,reflectedthathercharacter,forallitsseemingfirmness,itsflashingedgesof“opinion”,wasprobablynolessimmature.Hehadnotexpectedhertoyieldsosuddenlytohissuggestion,ortoconfessheryieldinginthatway.Atfirsthewasslightlydisconcerted;thenhesawhowherattitudesimplifiedhisown.Herbehaviourhadalltheindecisionandawkwardnessofinexperience

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