Епоха невинності

           Archerwasconsciousofacuriousindifferencetoherbodilypresence:hewouldhardlyhavebeenawareofitifoneofthehandsshehadflungoutonthetablehadnotdrawnhisgazeasontheoccasionwhen,inthelittleTwenty-thirdStreethouse,hehadkepthiseyeonitinordernottolookatherface.Nowhisimaginationspunaboutthehandasabouttheedgeofavortex;butstillhemadenoefforttodrawnearer.Hehadknownthelovethatisfedoncaressesandfeedsthem;butthispassionthatwascloserthanhisboneswasnottobesuperficiallysatisfied.Hisoneterrorwastodoanythingwhichmighteffacethesoundandimpressionofherwords;hisonethought,thatheshouldneveragainfeelquitealone.Butafteramomentthesenseofwasteandruinovercamehim.Theretheywere,closetogetherandsafeandshutin;yetsochainedtotheirseparatedestiniesthattheymightaswellhavebeenhalftheworldapart."What’stheuse—whenyouwillgoback?"hebrokeout,agreathopelessHOWONEARTHCANIKEEPYOU?cryingouttoherbeneathhiswords.Shesatmotionless,withloweredlids."Oh—Ishan’tgoyet!""Notyet?Sometime,then?Sometimethatyoualreadyforesee?"Atthatsheraisedherclearesteyes."Ipromiseyou:notaslongasyouholdout.Notaslongaswecanlookstraightateachotherlikethis."Hedroppedintohischair.Whatheranswerreallysaidwas:"Ifyouliftafingeryou’lldrivemeback:backtoalltheabominationsyouknowof,andallthetemptationsyouhalfguess.