Лето
XV
Shesatinherchairwithoutundressingtillfaintgreystreaksbegantodividetheblackslatsoftheshutters.Thenshestoodupandpushedthemopen,lettinginthelight.Thecomingofanewdaybroughtasharperconsciousnessofineluctablereality,andwithitasenseoftheneedofaction.Shelookedatherselfintheglass,andsawherface,whiteintheautumndawn,withpinchedcheeksanddark-ringedeyes,andallthemarksofherstatethatsheherselfwouldneverhavenoticed,butthatDr.Merkle’sdiagnosishadmadeplaintoher.Shecouldnothopethatthosesignswouldescapethewatchfulvillage;evenbeforeherfigurelostitsshapesheknewherfacewouldbetrayher.
Leaningfromherwindowshelookedoutonthedarkandemptyscene;theashenhouseswithshutteredwindows,thegreyroadclimbingtheslopetothehemlockbeltabovethecemetery,andtheheavymassoftheMountainblackagainstarainysky.Totheeastaspaceoflightwasbroadeningabovetheforest;butoverthatalsothecloudshung.Slowlyhergazetravelledacrossthefieldstotheruggedcurveofthehills.Shehadlookedoutsooftenonthatlifelesscircle,andwonderedifanythingcouldeverhappentoanyonewhowasenclosedinit....
Almostwithoutconsciousthoughtherdecisionhadbeenreached;ashereyeshadfollowedthecircleofthehillshermindhadalsotravelledtheoldround.ShesupposeditwassomethinginherbloodthatmadetheMountaintheonlyanswertoherquestioning,theinevitableescapefromallthathemmedherinandbesether
