Риф, або Там, де розбивається щастя

VI

           Itwason“thestory”thathermindwasfixed,andinlifealso,hesuspected,itwouldalwaysbe“thestory”,ratherthanitsremoterimaginativeissues,thatwouldholdher.Hedidnotbelievetherewereeveranyechoesinhersoul...

           Therewasnoquestion,however,thatwhatshefeltwasfeltwithintensity:totheactual,theimmediate,shespreadvibratingstrings.Whentheplaywasover,andtheycameoutoncemoreintothesunlight,Darrowlookeddownatherwithasmile.

           “Well?”heasked.

           Shemadenoanswer.Herdarkgazeseemedtorestonhimwithoutseeinghim.Hercheeksandlipswerepale,andtheloosehairunderherhat-brimclungtoherforeheadindamprings.Shelookedlikeayoungpriestessstilldazedbythefumesofthecavern.

           “Youpoorchild—it’sbeenalmosttoomuchforyou!”

           Sheshookherheadwithavaguesmile.

           “Come,”hewenton,puttinghishandonherarm,“let’sjumpintoataxiandgetsomeairandsunshine.Look,therearehoursofdaylightleft;andseewhatanightit’sgoingtobe!”

           Hepointedovertheirheads,towhereawhitemoonhunginthemistyblueabovetheroofsoftheruedeRivoli.

           Shemadenoanswer,andhesignedtoamotor-cab,callingouttothedriver:“TotheBois!”

           AsthecarriageturnedtowardtheTuileriessherousedherself.“Imustgofirsttothehotel.Theremaybeamessage—atanyrateImustdecideonsomething.”

           Darrowsawthattherealityofthesituationhadsuddenlyforceditselfuponher.“Imustdecideonsomething,”sherepeated.

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