There had been a long silence when the last star of Orion slid over
the horizon, followed by my impatient eyes. I looked at my watch. I
hardly know why I did it then. It was an involuntary action rather
than a conscious one. I did not say anything as I replaced it, but
she glanced sharply at me, and I saw her lips whitened.
I knew the intense excitement that was moving her, it spoke to me in
every line of her form--in her eyes, torn wide open by it, in the
faint gleam of sweat that showed on the white forehead. I was not
blind to it, but the tumult within me, made all the greater by the
sight of it, left me insensible to its danger for her.
She got up from where we were sitting, and began to walk restlessly
round the table. I wheeled my chair slightly round so that I could
watch her. Nothing struck me particularly as I did so except the
extreme grace and attraction in the moving form. The heavy silk
skirt dragged backwards and forwards over the carpet almost
soundless, the moonlight and gaslight alternately gleaming on its
folds. Each time that she came between me and the table my eyes
followed with dizzy delight the soft side curve of her breast, the
lines of the exquisite waist, the white idle hand that sometimes
touched the edge of my chair arm, sometimes not, as she passed. One
of these times I caught it and detained her, and looked up at her
face, but the light was behind her, and only fell on the bright
hair.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253