Титан

A Fateful Interlude

           Shehadafinefigure,finerthansherealized,withshapelylimbsandtorso.HerheadhadsomeofthesharpnessoftheoldGreekcoinage,andherhairwasplaitedasinancientcutstone.Cowperwoodnotedit.Hecamebackand,withouttakinghisseat,bentoverherandintimatelytookherhand.

           "Antoinette,"hesaid,liftinghergently.

           Shelookedup,thenaroseforheslowlydrewherbreathless,thecolorgone,muchofthecapablepracticalitythatwasherscompletelyeliminated.Shefeltlimp,inert.Shepulledatherhandfaintly,andthen,liftinghereyes,wasfixedbythathard,insatiablegazeofhis.Herheadswamhereyeswerefilledwithatelltaleconfusion.

           "Antoinette!"

           "Yes,"shemurmured.

           "Youloveme,don’tyou?"

           Shetriedtopullherselftogether,toinjectsomeofhernativerigidityofsoulintoherairthatrigiditywhichshealwaysimaginedwouldneverdesertherbutitwasgone.TherecameinsteadtoherapictureofthefarBlueIslandAvenueneighborhoodfromwhichsheemanateditslowbrowncottages,andthenthissmart,hardofficeandthisstrongman.Hecameoutofsuchamarvelousworld,apparently.Astrangefoamingseemedtobeinherblood.Shewasdeliriously,deliciouslynumbandhappy.

           "Antoinette!"

           "Oh,Idon’tknowwhatIthink,"shegasped."I—Ohyes,Ido,Ido."

           "Ilikeyourname,"hesaid,simply."Antoinette.

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