Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXXII

           Graduallythewarmthofthefirestoleintoherveinsandherheavinessofsoulwasreplacedbyadreamybuoyancy.Sheseemedtobeseatedonthehearthinhersitting-roomatGivre,andDarrowwasbesideher,inthechairagainstwhichsheleaned.Heputhisarmsabouthershouldersanddrawingherheadbacklookedintohereyes.“Ofallthewaysyoudoyourhair,that’sthewayIlikebest,”hesaid...

           Alogdropped,andshesatupwithastart.Therewasawarmthinherheart,andshewassmiling.Thenshelookedabouther,andsawwhereshewas,andthegloryfell.Shehidherfaceandsobbed.

           Presentlysheperceivedthatitwasgrowingdark,andgettingupstifflyshebegantoundothethingsinherbagandspreadthemonthedressing-table.Sheshrankfromlightingthelights,andgropedherwayabout,tryingtofindwhatsheneeded.Sheseemedimmeasurablyfarofffromeveryone,andmostofallfromherself.Itwasasifherconsciousnesshadbeentransmittedtosomestrangerwhosethoughtsandgestureswereindifferenttoher...

           Suddenlysheheardashrilltinkle,andwithabeatingheartshestoodstillinthemiddleoftheroom.Itwasthetelephoneinherdressing-room—acall,nodoubt,fromAdelaidePainter.OrcouldOwenhavelearnedshewasintown?Thethoughtalarmedherandsheopenedthedoorandstumbledacrosstheunlitroomtotheinstrument.Sheheldittoherear,andheardDarrow’svoicepronouncehername.

           “Willyouletmeseeyou?I’vecomeback—Ihadtocome.MissPaintertoldmeyouwerehere.”

           Shebegantotremble,andfearedthathewouldguessitfromhervoice.

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