Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXXVIII

           Whatsortofsatisfactionwouldthatgiveyou?Itwouldputsomethingirremediablebetweenus.”

           Sheleanedherelbowagainstthemantel-shelfandhidherfaceinherhands.Shehadthesensethatshewasvainlythrowingawayherlasthopeofhappiness,yetshecoulddonothing,thinkofnothing,tosaveit.Theconjectureflashedthroughher:“ShouldIbeatpeaceifIgavehimup?”andsherememberedthedesolationofthedaysaftershehadsenthimaway,andunderstoodthatthathopewasvain.Thetearswelledthroughherlidsandranslowlydownbetweenherfingers.

           “Good-bye,”sheheardhimsay,andhisfootstepsturnedtothedoor.

           Shetriedtoraiseherhead,buttheweightofherdespairboweditdown.Shesaidtoherself:“Thisistheend...hewon’ttrytoappealtomeagain...”andsheremainedinasortoftrancedrigidity,perceivingwithoutfeelingthefatefullapseoftheseconds.Thenthecordsthatboundherseemedtosnap,andsheliftedherheadandsawhimgoing.

           “Why,he’smine—he’smine!He’snooneelse’s!”Hisfacewasturnedtoherandthelookinhiseyessweptawayallherterrors.Shenolongerunderstoodwhathadpromptedhersenselessoutcry;andthemortalsweetnessoflovinghimbecameagaintheonerealfactintheworld.

           

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