Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXXIV

           InsuchasolitudeAnnahadfancieditwouldbeeasiertospeak;butasshewalkedbesideDarrowoverthedeepsoundlessflooringofbrownmossthewordsonherlipstookflightagain.Itseemedimpossibletobreakthespellofquietjoywhichhispresencelaidonher,andwhenhebegantotalkoftheplacetheyhadjustvisitedsheansweredhisquestionsandthenwaitedforwhatheshouldsaynext....No,decidedlyshecouldnotspeak;shenolongerevenknewwhatshehadmeanttosay...

           Thesameexperiencerepeateditselfseveraltimesthatdayandthenext.WhensheandDarrowwereapartsheexhaustedherselfinappealandinterrogation,sheformulatedwithaferventlucidityeverypointinherimaginaryargument.Butassoonasshewasalonewithhimsomethingdeeperthanreasonandsubtlerthanshynesslaiditsbenumbingtouchuponher,andthedesiretospeakbecamemerelyadimdisquietude,throughwhichhislooks,hiswords,histouch,reachedherasthroughamistofbodilypain.Yetthisinertiawastornbywildflashesofresistance,andwhentheywereapartshebegantoprepareagainwhatshemeanttosaytohim.

           Sheknewhecouldnotbewithherwithoutbeingawareofthisinnerturmoil,andshehopedhewouldbreakthespellbysomereleasingword.Butshepresentlyunderstoodthatherecognizedthefutilityofwords,andwasresolutelybentonholdinghertoherownpurposeofbehavingasifnothinghadhappened.Oncemoresheinwardlyaccusedhimofinsensibility,andherimaginationwasbesetbytormentingvisionsofhispast....

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