Возвращение на родину

IV. An Hour of Bliss and Many Hours of Sadness

           

           Clymbroughtherfacetowardshisbyagentlepressureofthehand,andkissedher.

           “Ah!butyoudon’tknowwhatyouhavegotinme,”shesaid.“SometimesIthinkthereisnotthatinEustaciaVyewhichwillmakeagoodhomespunwife.Well,letitgo—seehowourtimeisslipping,slipping,slipping!”Shepointedtowardsthehalf-eclipsedmoon.

           “Youaretoomournful.”

           “No.OnlyIdreadtothinkofanythingbeyondthepresent.Whatis,weknow.Wearetogethernow,anditisunknownhowlongweshallbeso;theunknownalwaysfillsmymindwithterriblepossibilities,evenwhenImayreasonablyexpectittobecheerful....Clym,theeclipsedmoonlightshinesuponyourfacewithastrangeforeigncolour,andshowsitsshapeasifitwerecutoutingold.Thatmeansthatyoushouldbedoingbetterthingsthanthis.”

           “Youareambitious,Eustacia—no,notexactlyambitious,luxurious.Ioughttobeofthesamevein,tomakeyouhappy,Isuppose.Andyet,farfromthat,Icouldliveanddieinahermitagehere,withproperworktodo.”

           Therewasthatinhistonewhichimplieddistrustofhispositionasasolicitouslover,adoubtifhewereactingfairlytowardsonewhosetastestouchedhisownonlyatrareandinfrequentpoints.Shesawhismeaning,andwhispered,inalow,fullaccentofeagerassurance“Don’tmistakeme,Clym—thoughIshouldlikeParis,Iloveyouforyourselfalone.TobeyourwifeandliveinPariswouldbeheaventome;butIwouldratherlivewithyouinahermitageherethannotbeyoursatall.Itisgaintomeeitherway,andverygreatgain.

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