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恋爱中的女人|Women in Love

Chapter 26 A Chair|Chapter 24 Death and Love

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 劳伦斯] 阅读：[28833]
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城里的旧货义卖摊每周一下午在老市场里营业。一天下午厄秀拉和伯金到那儿去了。他在鹅卵石上成堆的旧货中找着，看看能否买到点家具什么的。

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老市场所在的广场并不大，不过是一片铺着花岗岩石的空旷地带，平时只在墙根下有几个水果摊。这儿是城里的贫困区。路边有一排简陋的房物，那儿有一家针织厂，一面墙上开着许多椭圆的窗户；街的另一边开着一溜小商店，便道上铺着扁石；显赫的大房子是公共澡堂，是用新红砖砌成的，顶上还有一座钟塔。在这儿转来转去的人们看上去都那么短粗肮脏，空气也污浊，让人觉得是一条条下流不堪的街道。一辆棕黄色的有轨电车不时在针织厂的拐角处艰难地打转。

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厄秀拉感到十分兴奋，她竟置身于这些普通人中间，在这些烂七八糟的东西中徜徉着：怪模怪样的床上用品，一堆堆旧铁器、难看的陶器，还有些蒙着盖着的莫名其妙的衣物。她和伯金不大情愿地在这些破烂儿中穿行。他在看旧货，她则在看人。

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她看到一位孕妇时，很是激动。那孕妇正摆弄着一张席子，还要那位跟在她身后灰心丧气的小伙子也来摸摸席子。那年轻女人看上去那么神秘，充满活力，还有些焦急，而那小伙子则显得勉勉强强，鬼鬼祟祟的。他要娶她，因为她怀孕了。

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他们摸了摸席子后，那年轻女人问坐在杂货堆中的老人席子卖多少钱。老人告诉她多少钱后，她又回头去问小伙子。那小伙子很害羞，挺不好意思的。他扭过脸，嘟哝了一句什么。那女人急迫地摸摸席子盘算了盘算，然后同那脏稀稀的老人讨起价来。这段时间里，那小伙子一直站在一边，露出一副腼腆相，恭敬地听着。

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“看，”伯金说，“那儿有一把不错的椅子。”

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“漂亮！”厄秀拉叫着：“好漂亮！”

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这是一把扶手椅，纯木的，可能是白桦木，可做工极其精巧、典雅，看到它立在肮脏的石子路上，几乎让人心疼得落泪。椅座是方形的，线条纯朴而纤细，靠背上的四根短木柱让厄秀拉想起竖琴的琴弦。

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“这椅子，”伯金说，“曾经镀过金，椅背是藤做的。后来有人钉上了这个木椅背。看，这就是镀金下面的一点红颜色。其余的部分都是黑的，除了黑漆掉了的地方。这些木柱样式很和谐，很迷人。看，它们的走向，它们衔接得多好。当然，木椅背这样安上去不对，它破坏了原先藤椅背的轻巧和整体的浑然。不过，我还是喜欢它。”

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“对，”厄秀拉说，“我也喜欢。”

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“多少钱？”伯金问卖主。

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“十先令。”

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“包送——”

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他们买下了椅子。

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“太漂亮，太纯朴了！”伯金说，“让我太高兴了。”他们边说边从破烂儿中穿过。“我们国家太可爱了，连这把椅子都曾表达点什么。”

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“现在它就不表达什么吗？”厄秀拉问。每当伯金用这种口气说话，她就生气。

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“不，什么也不表达。当我看到那把明亮、漂亮的椅子时，我就会想起英格兰，甚至是简·奥斯汀时期的英格兰——这椅子甚至表达了活生生的思想，欢快地表达着。可如今，我们只能在成堆的破烂儿中寻觅旧的情绪。我们没有一点创造性，我们身上只有肮脏、卑下的机械性。”

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“不对！”厄秀拉叫道，“你为什么总要贬低现在抬高过去？真的，我并不怎么怀念简·奥斯汀时期的英格兰，太物质化了——”

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“它能够物质化，”伯金说，“它有足够的力量改变社会。我们也物质化，那是因为我们无力改变社会，不管我们怎样尝试，我们一事无成，只能达到物质主义，它的核心就是机械。”

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厄秀拉忍耐着，一言不发。她没听他都说些什么。她在反抗。

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“我讨厌你的过去，它让人恶心，”她叫道，“我甚至仇恨那把旧椅子，别看它挺漂亮。它不是我喜欢的那种美。我希望，它那个时代一过就砸烂它，别让它老对我们宣扬那可爱的过去，让我讨厌。”

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“我对可咒的现在更讨厌。”他说。

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“一样。我也讨厌现在，可我不希望让过去代替现在，我不要那把旧椅子。”

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他一时间气坏了。他看看阳光下澡堂上的钟楼，似乎忘掉了一切，又笑了。

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“好吧，”他说，“不要就不要吧。我也讨厌它了。不管怎么说，人不能靠欣赏过去的美过日子。”

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“是不能，”她叫道，“我不要旧东西。”

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“说实在的吧，”他说，“我们什么也不要要。一想到我自己的房子和家具，我就厌烦。”

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这话让她吃了一惊，然后她说：

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“我也这样。可一个人总得有个地方住。”

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“不是某个地方，是任何地方。”他说。“一个人应该在任何地方都可以住，而不是固定在一个地方。我不需要某个固定的地方。一旦你有了一间屋，你就完了，你巴不得离开那儿。我在磨房那儿的房子就挺完美，可我希望它们沉到海底中去。那固定的环境着实可怕，着实霸道，每一件家具都向你发布着命令。”

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她依傍着他离开了市场。

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“可我们怎么办呢？”她说，“我们总得生活呀。我的确需要我的环境美一些。我甚至需要某种自然奇观。”

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“你在房屋、家具甚至衣物中永远得不到这些。房屋、家具和衣物，都是旧社会的产物，令人生厌。如果你有一座都铎王朝式①的房子和漂亮的旧家具，你这不过是让过去永远地存在于你之上。如果你有一座波依莱特②设计的现代房屋，这是另一种永恒压迫着你。这一切都很可怕。这些都是占有，占有，威慑你，让你变得一般化。你应该象罗丹和米开朗基罗那样，一块石头雕不完就完工。你应该让你的环境粗糙、不完美，那样你就不会被它所包容，永不受限制，身处局外，不受它的统治。”

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①都铎王朝（１４８５—１４０３）。

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②波依莱特（１８７９—１９４３），法国著名时尚设计家，在１９０９—１９１４年间名声显赫。

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她站在街上思索着。

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“那就是说咱们永远也不会有一个自己的完美住处——

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永远没个家？”她说。

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“上帝知道，在这个世界上不会有。”他说。

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“可只有这一个世界呀。”她反驳说。

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他毫不在乎地摊开手。

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“同时，我们还要避免有自己的东西。”他说。

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“可我们刚买了一把椅子。”她说。

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“我可以对那人说我不想要了。”他说。

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她思忖着，脸奇怪地一抽动。

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“对，我们不要了。我讨厌旧东西。”

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“也讨厌新的。”他说。

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说完他们又往回走。

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又来到家具跟前。那对年轻人依然站在那儿：女的怀孕了，那男人长着长条腿。女人又矮又胖，但挺好看。男人中等个儿，身材很好。他的黑发从帽子下露出来，盖住了眉毛。

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他显得很清高，象受了审判的人一样。

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“咱们把椅子给他们吧。”厄秀拉喃喃地说，“瞧，他们正要建个家呢。”

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“我不支援他们，也不唆使他们买。”他使性子说。他挺同情那个畏畏葸葸的男人，讨厌那个泼辣、生殖力旺盛的女人。

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“给他们吧，”厄秀拉叫道，“这椅子对他们很合适——这儿没别的了。”

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“那好吧，”伯金说，“你去说，我看着。”

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厄秀拉赶紧朝那对年轻人走过去，他们正商量买一个铁盆架子，那男人象个囚犯偷偷摸摸地出神地看着，那女人在讨价还价。

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“我们买了一把椅子，”厄秀拉说，“可我们不要了。你们要吗？你们要的话，我将会很高兴。”

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那对年轻人回头看着她，不相信她是在跟他们说话。

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“你们看看好吗？”厄秀拉说，“确实很好，可是，可是——”她笑了。

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那两个人只是看着她，又对视一下，不知怎么办好。那男人奇怪地躲到一边去了，似乎他能够象老鼠一样藏起来。

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“我们想把它送给你们，”厄秀拉解释说。她现在有些迷惑不解，也有点怕他们。那小伙子引起了她的注意。他象安祥，而盲目的动物，简直不是个人，他是这种城市的特产，显得单纯、漂亮，又有点鬼鬼祟祟，机灵鬼儿似的。他的眼睫毛又黑又长、倒是还漂亮，但目光茫然，忽闪忽闪地亮着。让人害怕，他的黑眉毛和其它线条勾勒得很好看。对一个女人来说，他会是一个可怕但又十分奇妙的恋人。那合适的裤子肯定包着两条生机勃勃的腿，他象一只黑眼睛的老鼠那样健康、沉静、光滑。

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厄秀拉怕他但又迷上了他，浑身不禁震颤起来。那粗壮的女人不怀好意地看着她。于是厄秀拉不再注意他了。

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“您要这把椅子吗？”她问。

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那男人斜视着她，几乎是无礼地观赏她。那女人紧张起来，样子足象个小贩儿。她不知道厄秀拉要干什么，对她有所戒备。伯金走过来，看到厄秀拉这副窘相和害怕的样子他恶作剧似地笑了。

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“怎么了？”他笑问。他的眼皮垂着，那样子象在启发什么，又象在嘲弄人。那男人甩甩头指着厄秀拉用一种奇特和蔼的声调说：

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“她要干什么？——啊？”说着他嘴角上露出一丝怪笑。

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伯金无精打采地看着他，眼神中不无讽刺。

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“送你一把椅子，上面还贴着标签呢。”他指指椅子说。

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那男的看看椅子。两个男人之间充满了敌意，难以相互理解。

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“她为什么要把椅子给我们？”这随随便便的口气让厄秀拉感到屈辱。

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“我以为你会喜欢它，这是一把很漂亮的椅子。我们买下了它，又不想要了。你没有必要非要它不可，别害怕。”伯金疲惫地笑道。

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那人瞟了他一眼，虽然并不友好，但还是认可了。

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“既然你们买了它，为什么又不要了？”女人冷冷地问，“你们用正好，你最好看一看，别认为这里面有什么玩意儿。”

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她很敬重地看着厄秀拉，但目光中不无反感。

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“我倒没那么想，”伯金说，“不过，这木头太薄了一点儿。”

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“告你说吧，”厄秀拉满脸喜庆地说，“我们马上要结婚，该添置点东西。可我们现在又决定不要家具了，因为我们要出国。”

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那粗壮、头发蓬乱的女人羡慕地看着厄秀拉。她们相互欣赏着。那小伙子站在一旁，脸上毫无表情，宽大的嘴巴紧闭着，那一敝小胡子很有性感。他冷淡、茫然，象一个冥冥中的幽灵，一个流浪者样的幽灵。

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“这东西还不错，”那女子看看她男人说。男人没说话，只是笑笑，把头偏向一边表示同意。他的目光毫无改变，仍旧黑黑的。

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“改变你的主意可不容易。”他声音极低地说。

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“只卖十个先令。”伯金说。

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那男人看看他，做个鬼脸，畏畏葸葸的，没有把握地说：

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“半英镑，是便宜。不是在闹离婚吧？”

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“我们还没结婚。”伯金说。

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“我们也没有呢，”那年轻女子大声说。“星期六才结呢。”

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说话间她又看看那男的，露出保护的神情，既傲慢，又温柔。那男人憨憨地笑了，扭过脸去。她拥有了这个男人，可他又那么满不在乎。他暗自感到骄傲，感到了不起。

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“祝你们好运气。”伯金说。

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“也祝你们好运气，”那女人说。然后她又试探着问：“你们什么时候结？”

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伯金看看厄秀拉说：

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“这要由女士来定。只要她准备好了，我们就去登记。”

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听到这话厄秀拉迷惑不解地笑了。

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“不着急。”那小伙子意味深长地笑道。

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“到那儿去就跟要你的命一样，”那女人说。“就跟要死似的，可你都结婚这么久了。”

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男人转过身去，似乎这话说中了他。

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“越久越好啊。”伯金说。

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“是这么回事，”男人羡慕地说，“好好享受，别用鞭子抽一头死驴。”

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“可这驴子是在装死，就得抽它。”女人温柔又霸道地看着她的男人。

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“哦，这不是一回事。”他调侃道。

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“这椅子怎么样？”伯金问。

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“嗯，挺好的。”女人说。

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说完他们走到卖主跟前，这小伙子挺帅，但有点可怜见的，一直躲在一边。

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“就这样，”伯金说，“你们是带走呢还是把标签上的地址改改让他们送去？”

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“哦，弗莱德可以搬。为了我们可爱的家，他会这样做的。”

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“好好使用我，”弗莱德笑着从卖主手中接过椅子。他的动作很雅观，可有点畏葸。

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“这给妈妈坐很舒服，”他说，“就是缺少一个椅垫儿。”

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“你不觉得它很漂亮吗？”厄秀拉问。

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“当然漂亮。”女人说。

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“如果你在里面坐一坐，你就会希望留下它。”小伙子说。

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厄秀拉立时坐在椅子中。

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“实在舒服，”她说，“可是太硬了点儿，你来试试。”她让小伙子坐进去。可小伙子却露出尴尬相，转过身，明亮的目光奇怪地打量着她，象一只活泼的老鼠。

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“别惯坏了他，”女人说，“他坐不惯扶手椅。”

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“只想把腿翘起来。”

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四个人要分手了。女人向他们表示感谢。

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“谢谢你们，这椅子我们会一直用下去。”

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“当装饰品。”小伙子说。

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“再见——再见了。”厄秀拉和伯金说。

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“祝你交好运。”小伙子避开伯金的目光把脸转过去说。

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两对儿人分手了。厄秀拉挽着伯金走了一段路又回过头去看那一对儿，只见小伙子正伴着那圆滚滚、很洒脱的女人走着，他的裤角嘟噜着，由于扛着椅子，他走起路来显得很不自然，椅子的四只细腿几乎挨上了花岗石便道。可他象机敏活泼的小老鼠，毫不气馁。他身上有一种潜在的美，当然这样子有点让人生厌。

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“他们多么怪啊！”厄秀拉说。

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“他们是人的后代，”他说，“他们令我想起了基督的话‘温顺者将继承世界。’”

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“可他们并不是这样的人。”厄秀拉说。

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他们等电车到了就上去了。厄秀拉坐在上层，望着窗外的城市。黄昏的暮色开始弥漫，笼罩着参差的房屋。

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“他们会继承这个世界吗？”她问。

121
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“是的，是他们。”

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“那我们怎么办？”她问，“我们跟他们不同，对吗？我们不是软弱的人。”

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“不是。我们得在他们的夹缝中生存。”

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“太可怕了！”厄秀拉叫道，“我不想在夹缝中生存。”

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“别急，”他说，“他们是人的后代，他们最喜欢市场和街角。这样就给我们留下了足够的空间。”

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“是整个世界。”她说。

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“噢，不，只是一些空间。”

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电车爬上了山，这里一片片的房屋灰蒙蒙的，看上去就象地狱中的幻景，冷冰冰、有棱有角。他们坐在车中看着这一切。远方的夕阳象一团红红的怒火。一切都是那么冰冷，渺小，拥挤，象世界末日的图景。

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“我才不在乎景致如何呢，”厄秀拉说。她看着这令人不快的景象道：“这跟我没关系。”

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“是无所谓，”他拉着她的手说，“你尽可以不去看就是了。

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走你的路好了。我自己的世界里正是阳光明媚，无比宽广——”

132
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“对，我的爱人，就是！”她叫着搂紧了他，害得其他乘客直瞪他们二人。

133
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“我们将在地球上恣意游荡，”他说，“我们会看到比这远得多的世界。”

134
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他们沉默了好久。她沉思着的时候，脸象金子一样在闪光。

135
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“我不想继承这个世界，”她说，“我不想继承任何东西。”

136
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他握紧了她的手。

137
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“我也不想，我倒想被剥夺继承权。”

138
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她攥紧了他的手指头。

139
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“咱们什么都不在乎。”她说。

140
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他稳稳地坐着笑了。

141
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“咱们结婚，跟这一切都断绝关系。”她补充说。

142
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他又笑了。

143
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“这是摆脱一切的一种办法，”她说，“那就是结婚。”

144
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“这也是接受整个世界的一种办法。”他补充说。

145
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“另一个世界。”她快活地说。

146
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“或许那儿有杰拉德和戈珍——”他说。

147
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“有就有呗，”她说，“咱们烦恼是没好处的。我们无法改变他们，能吗？”

148
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“不能，”他说，“没有这种权力，即便有最好的动机也不应该这样。”

149
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“那你想强迫他们吗？”她问。

150
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“也许会，”他说，“如果自由不是他的事，我为什么要让他自由？”

151
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她不言语了。

152
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“可我们无法让他幸福，”她说，“他得自己幸福起来才行。”

153
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“我知道，”他说，“可我们希望别人同我们在一起，不是吗？”

154
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“为什么？”她问。

155
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“我不知道，”他不安地说，“一个人总要寻求一种进一步的友情。”

156
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“可是为什么？”她追问。“你干吗要追求别人？你为什么需要他们？”

157
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这话击中了他的要害。他不禁皱起了眉头。

158
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“难道我们两个人就是目的吗？”他紧张地问。

159
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“是的，你还需要别的什么？如果有什么人愿意与我们同行，让他们来好了。可你为什么要追求他们？”

160
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他脸色很紧张，露出不满的表情来。

161
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“你瞧，”他说，“我总在想我们同其它少数几个人在一起会真正幸福的——与他人在一起共享一点自由。”

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她思忖着。

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“是的，一个人的确需要这个。可它得自然而然发生才行。你不能把自己的意志强加于它。你似乎总想你可以强迫花儿开放。有人爱我们是因为他们爱我们——你不能强使人家爱我们。”

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“我知道的，”他说。“可我们就不能采取点步骤了？难道一个人非要孤独地在世上行走——世上唯一的动物？”

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“你既然有了我，”她说，“你为什么还需要别人？你为什么要强迫别人同意你的观点？你为什么不能象你说的那样独善其身？你试图欺压杰拉德和赫麦妮。你得学会孤独才行。你这样太可怕了。你现在有了我，可你还要迫使别人也爱你。你的确是迫使人家爱你的。可即便是这样，你需要的仍不是他们的爱。”

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他显出一脸的困惑相。

167
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“我是这样的人吗？”他说，“这个问题我无法解决。我知道我需要与你结成完美、完善的关系。我们几乎建立了这样的关系——我们的确建立了这样的关系。可是除此之外，我是否需要与杰拉德有真正完美的关系？是否这是一种最终的、几乎超人的关系——对他对我均是如此？”

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她的眼睛闪着奇特的光，看了他好久，但她终于没有回答。

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THOMAS CRICH died slowly, terribly slowly. It seemed impossible to everybody that the thread of life could be drawn out so thin, and yet not break. The sick man lay unutterably weak and spent, kept alive by morphia and by drinks, which he sipped slowly. He was only half conscious -- a thin strand of consciousness linking the darkness of death with the light of day. Yet his will was unbroken, he was integral, complete. Only he must have perfect stillness about him.

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Any presence but that of the nurses was a strain and an effort to him now. Every morning Gerald went into the room, hoping to find his father passed away at last. Yet always he saw the same transparent face, the same dread dark hair on the waxen forehead, and the awful, inchoate dark eyes, which seemed to be decomposing into formless darkness, having only a tiny grain of vision within them.

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And always, as the dark, inchoate eyes turned to him, there passed through Gerald’s bowels a burning stroke of revolt, that seemed to resound through his whole being, threatening to break his mind with its clangour, and making him mad.

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Every morning, the son stood there, erect and taut with life, gleaming in his blondness. The gleaming blondness of his strange, imminent being put the father into a fever of fretful irritation . He could not bear to meet the uncanny, downward look of Gerald’s blue eyes. But it was only for a moment. Each on the brink of departure, the father and son looked at each other, then parted.

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For a long time Gerald preserved a perfect sang froid, he remained quite collected. But at last, fear undermined him. He was afraid of some horrible collapse in himself. He had to stay and see this thing through. Some perverse will made him watch his father drawn over the borders of life. And yet, now, every day, the great red-hot stroke of horrified fear through the bowels of the son struck a further inflammation. Gerald went about all day with a tendency to cringe, as if there were the point of a sword of Damocles pricking the nape of his neck.

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There was no escape -- he was bound up with his father, he had to see him through. And the father’s will never relaxed or yielded to death. It would have to snap when death at last snapped it, -- if it did not persist after a physical death. In the same way, the will of the son never yielded. He stood firm and immune, he was outside this death and this dying.

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It was a trial by ordeal . Could he stand and see his father slowly dissolve and disappear in death, without once yielding his will, without once relenting before the omnipotence of death. Like a Red Indian undergoing torture, Gerald would experience the whole process of slow death without wincing or flinching . He even triumphed in it. He somehow wanted this death, even forced it. It was as if he himself were dealing the death, even when he most recoiled in horror. Still, he would deal it, he would triumph through death.

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But in the stress of this ordeal, Gerald too lost his hold on the outer, daily life. That which was much to him, came to mean nothing. Work, pleasure -- it was all left behind. He went on more or less mechanically with his business, but this activity was all extraneous . The real activity was this ghastly wrestling for death in his own soul. And his own will should triumph. Come what might, he would not bow down or submit or acknowledge a master. He had no master in death.

8

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But as the fight went on, and all that he had been and was continued to be destroyed, so that life was a hollow shell all round him, roaring and clattering like the sound of the sea, a noise in which he participated externally, and inside this hollow shell was all the darkness and fearful space of death, he knew he would have to find reinforcements, otherwise he would collapse inwards upon the great dark void which circled at the centre of his soul. His will held his outer life, his outer mind, his outer being unbroken and unchanged. But the pressure was too great. He would have to find something to make good the equilibrium . Something must come with him into the hollow void of death in his soul, fill it up, and so equalise the pressure within to the pressure without. For day by day he felt more and more like a bubble filled with darkness, round which whirled the iridescence of his consciousness, and upon which the pressure of the outer world, the outer life, roared vastly.

9

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In this extremity his instinct led him to Gudrun. He threw away everything now -- he only wanted the relation established with her. He would follow her to the studio, to be near her, to talk to her. He would stand about the room, aimlessly picking up the implements , the lumps of clay, the little figures she had cast -- they were whimsical and grotesque -- looking at them without perceiving them. And she felt him following her, dogging her heels like a doom . She held away from him, and yet she knew he drew always a little nearer, a little nearer.

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`I say,’ he said to her one evening, in an odd, unthinking, uncertain way, `won’t you stay to dinner tonight? I wish you would.’

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She started slightly. He spoke to her like a man making a request of another man.

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`They’ll be expecting me at home,’ she said.

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`Oh, they won’t mind, will they?’ he said. `I should be awfully glad if you’d stay.’

14

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Her long silence gave consent at last.

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`I’ll tell Thomas, shall I?’ he said.

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`I must go almost immediately after dinner,’ she said.

17

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It was a dark, cold evening. There was no fire in the drawing-room, they sat in the library. He was mostly silent, absent, and Winifred talked little. But when Gerald did rouse himself, he smiled and was pleasant and ordinary with her. Then there came over him again the long blanks, of which he was not aware.

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She was very much attracted by him. He looked so preoccupied , and his strange, blank silences, which she could not read, moved her and made her wonder over him, made her feel reverential towards him.

19

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But he was very kind. He gave her the best things at the table, he had a bottle of slightly sweet, delicious golden wine brought out for dinner, knowing she would prefer it to the burgundy. She felt herself esteemed , needed almost.

20

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As they took coffee in the library, there was a soft, very soft knocking at the door. He started, and called `Come in.’ The timbre of his voice, like something vibrating at high pitch, unnerved Gudrun. A nurse in white entered, half hovering in the doorway like a shadow. She was very goodlooking, but strangely enough, shy and self-mistrusting.

21

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`The doctor would like to speak to you, Mr Crich,’ she said, in her low, discreet voice.

22

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`The doctor!’ he said, starting up. `Where is he?’

23

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`He is in the dining-room.’

24

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`Tell him I’m coming.’

25

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He drank up his coffee, and followed the nurse, who had dissolved like a shadow.

26

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`Which nurse was that?’ asked Gudrun.

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`Miss Inglis -- I like her best,’ replied Winifred.

28

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After a while Gerald came back, looking absorbed by his own thoughts, and having some of that tension and abstraction which is seen in a slightly drunken man. He did not say what the doctor had wanted him for, but stood before the fire, with his hands behind his back, and his face open and as if rapt. Not that he was really thinking -- he was only arrested in pure suspense inside himself, and thoughts wafted through his mind without order.

29

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`I must go now and see Mama,’ said Winifred, `and see Dadda before he goes to sleep.’

30

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She bade them both good-night.

31

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Gudrun also rose to take her leave.

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`You needn’t go yet, need you?’ said Gerald, glancing quickly at the clock.’ It is early yet. I’ll walk down with you when you go. Sit down, don’t hurry away.’

33

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Gudrun sat down, as if, absent as he was, his will had power over her. She felt almost mesmerised. He was strange to her, something unknown. What was he thinking, what was he feeling, as he stood there so rapt, saying nothing? He kept her -- she could feel that. He would not let her go. She watched him in humble submissiveness.

34

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`Had the doctor anything new to tell you?’ she asked, softly, at length, with that gentle, timid sympathy which touched a keen fibre in his heart. He lifted his eyebrows with a negligent , indifferent expression.

35

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`No -- nothing new,’ he replied, as if the question were quite casual, trivial. `He says the pulse is very weak indeed, very intermittent -- but that doesn’t necessarily mean much, you know.’

36

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He looked down at her. Her eyes were dark and soft and unfolded, with a stricken look that roused him.

37

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`No,’ she murmured at length. `I don’t understand anything about these things.’

38

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`Just as well not,’ he said. `I say, won’t you have a cigarette? -- do!’ He quickly fetched the box, and held her a light. Then he stood before her on the hearth again.

39

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`No,’ he said, `we’ve never had much illness in the house, either -- not till father.’ He seemed to meditate a while. Then looking down at her, with strangely communicative blue eyes, that filled her with dread, he continued: `It’s something you don’t reckon with, you know, till it is there. And then you realise that it was there all the time -- it was always there -- you understand what I mean? -- the possibility of this incurable illness, this slow death.’

40

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Please sign in to unlock the rest

41

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42

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43

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`I don’t know what the effect actually is, on one,’ he said, and again he looked down at her. Her eyes were dark and stricken with knowledge, looking into his. He saw her submerged, and he turned aside his face. `But I absolutely am not the same. There’s nothing left, if you understand what I mean. You seem to be clutching at the void -- and at the same time you are void yourself. And so you don’t know what to do.’

44

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`No,’ she murmured. A heavy thrill ran down her nerves, heavy, almost pleasure, almost pain. `What can be done?’ she added.

45

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