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Her
troubled
breathing
sounded
loudly
in
the
silence
of
the
sleeping
house
.
She
pressed
her
lips
tight
,
but
could
not
stop
the
nervous
pulsations
in
her
throat
,
and
he
put
an
arm
about
her
and
,
opening
his
door
,
drew
her
across
the
threshold
of
his
room
.
The
door
shut
behind
her
and
she
sat
down
on
the
lounge
at
the
foot
of
the
bed
.
The
pulsations
in
her
throat
had
ceased
,
but
she
knew
they
would
begin
again
if
she
tried
to
speak
.
Darrow
walked
away
and
leaned
against
the
mantelpiece
.
The
red
-
veiled
lamp
shone
on
his
books
and
papers
,
on
the
arm
-
chair
by
the
fire
,
and
the
scattered
objects
on
his
dressing
-
table
.
A
log
glimmered
on
the
hearth
,
and
the
room
was
warm
and
faintly
smoke
-
scented
.
It
was
the
first
time
she
had
ever
been
in
a
room
he
lived
in
,
among
his
personal
possessions
and
the
traces
of
his
daily
usage
.
Every
object
about
her
seemed
to
contain
a
particle
of
himself
:
the
whole
air
breathed
of
him
,
steeping
her
in
the
sense
of
his
intimate
presence
.
Suddenly
she
thought
:
“
This
is
what
Sophy
Viner
knew
”
.
.
.
and
with
a
torturing
precision
she
pictured
them
alone
in
such
a
scene
.
.
.
.
Had
he
taken
the
girl
to
an
hotel
.
.
.
where
did
people
go
in
such
cases
?
Wherever
they
were
,
the
silence
of
night
had
been
around
them
,
and
the
things
he
used
had
been
strewn
about
the
room
.
.
.
.
Anna
,
ashamed
of
dwelling
on
the
detested
vision
,
stood
up
with
a
confused
impulse
of
flight
;
then
a
wave
of
contrary
feeling
arrested
her
and
she
paused
with
lowered
head
.
Darrow
had
come
forward
as
she
rose
,
and
she
perceived
that
he
was
waiting
for
her
to
bid
him
good
night
.
It
was
clear
that
no
other
possibility
had
even
brushed
his
mind
;
and
the
fact
,
for
some
dim
reason
,
humiliated
her
.
“
Why
not
.
.
.
why
not
?
”
something
whispered
in
her
,
as
though
his
forbearance
,
his
tacit
recognition
of
her
pride
,
were
a
slight
on
other
qualities
she
wanted
him
to
feel
in
her
.
“
In
the
morning
,
then
?
”
she
heard
him
say
.
“
Yes
,
in
the
morning
,
”
she
repeated
She
continued
to
stand
in
the
same
place
,
looking
vaguely
about
the
room
.
For
once
before
they
parted
—
since
part
they
must
—
she
longed
to
be
to
him
all
that
Sophy
Viner
had
been
;
but
she
remained
rooted
to
the
floor
,
unable
to
find
a
word
or
imagine
a
gesture
that
should
express
her
meaning
.
Exasperated
by
her
helplessness
,
she
thought
:
“
Don
’
t
I
feel
things
as
other
women
do
?
”
Her
eye
fell
on
a
note
-
case
she
had
given
him
.
It
was
worn
at
the
corners
with
the
friction
of
his
pocket
and
distended
with
thickly
packed
papers
.
She
wondered
if
he
carried
her
letters
in
it
,
and
she
put
her
hand
out
and
touched
it
.
All
that
he
and
she
had
ever
felt
or
seen
,
their
close
encounters
of
word
and
look
,
and
the
closer
contact
of
their
silences
,
trembled
through
her
at
the
touch
.
She
remembered
things
he
had
said
that
had
been
like
new
skies
above
her
head
:
ways
he
had
that
seemed
a
part
of
the
air
she
breathed
.
The
faint
warmth
of
her
girlish
love
came
back
to
her
,
gathering
heat
as
it
passed
through
her
thoughts
;
and
her
heart
rocked
like
a
boat
on
the
surge
of
its
long
long
memories
.
“
It
’
s
because
I
love
him
in
too
many
ways
,
”
she
thought
;
and
slowly
she
turned
to
the
door
.
