Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXVII

           “WhyshouldyouthinkitnecessarytoaskmyindulgenceforOwen?”

           Shehesitatedamoment,hereyeswanderingfromhim.Thentheycamebackwithasmile.“PerhapsbecauseIneeditformyself.”

           “Foryourself?”

           “Imean,becauseIunderstandbetterhowonecantortureone’sselfoverunrealities.”

           AsDarrowlistened,thetensionofhisnervesbegantorelax.Hergaze,sograveandyetsosweet,waslikeadeeppoolintowhichhecouldplungeandhidehimselffromthehardglareofhismisery.Asthisecstaticsenseenvelopedhimhefounditmoreandmoredifficulttofollowherwordsandtoframeananswer;butwhatdidanythingmatter,exceptthathervoiceshouldgoon,andthesyllablesfalllikesofttouchesonhistorturedbrain?

           “Don’tyouknow,”shecontinued,“theblissofwakingfromabaddreaminone’sownquietroom,andgoingslowlyoverallthehorrorwithoutbeingafraidofitanymore?That’swhatI’mdoingnow.Andthat’swhyIunderstandOwen...”Shebrokeoff,andhefelthertouchonhisarm.“BecauseI’ddreamedthehorrortoo!”

           Heunderstoodherthen,andstammered:“You?”

           “Forgiveme!Andletmetellyou!...ItwillhelpyoutounderstandOwen....Therewerelittlethings...littlesigns...onceIhadbeguntowatchforthem:yourreluctancetospeakabouther...herreservewithyou...asortofconstraintwe’dneverseeninherbefore...

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