Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXVII

           

           Shelaughedupathim,andwithherhandsinhishecontrivedtosay:“Nowyouunderstandwhy?”

           “Oh,Iunderstand;ofcourseIunderstand;andIwantyoutolaughatme—withme!Becausetherewereotherthingstoo...crazierthingsstill....Therewaseven—lastnightontheterrace—herpinkcloak...”

           “Herpinkcloak?”Nowhehonestlywondered,andasshesawitsheblushed.

           “You’veforgottenaboutthecloak?ThepinkcloakthatOwensawyouwithattheplayinParis?Yes...yes....Iwasmadenoughforthat!...Itdoesmegoodtolaughaboutitnow!ButyououghttoknowthatI’mgoingtobeajealouswoman...aridiculouslyjealouswoman...yououghttobewarnedofitintime...”

           Hehaddroppedherhands,andsheleanedcloseandliftedherarmstohisneckwithoneofherraregesturesofsurrender.

           “Idon’tknowwhyitis;butitmakesmehappiernowtohavebeensofoolish!”

           Herlipswerepartedinanoiselesslaughandthetremorofherlashesmadetheirshadowmoveonhercheek.Helookedatherthroughamistofpainandsawallherofferedbeautyhelduplikeacuptohislips;butashestoopedtoitadarknessseemedtofallbetweenthem,herarmsslippedfromhisshouldersandshedrewawayfromhimabruptly.

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