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"
Do
you
want
lunch
to
be
brought
up
to
you
?
"
she
asked
.
He
nodded
and
continued
to
lie
quiescent
,
staring
at
the
ceiling
.
Doubtfully
she
went
to
give
the
order
.
Upstairs
again
she
looked
into
his
room
—
the
blue
eyes
,
like
searchlights
,
played
on
a
dark
sky
.
She
stood
a
minute
in
the
doorway
,
aware
of
the
sin
she
had
committed
against
him
,
half
afraid
to
come
in
.
.
.
.
She
put
out
her
hand
as
if
to
rub
his
head
,
but
he
turned
away
like
a
suspicious
animal
.
Nicole
could
stand
the
situation
no
longer
;
in
a
kitchen
-
maid
’
s
panic
she
ran
downstairs
,
afraid
of
what
the
stricken
man
above
would
feed
on
while
she
must
still
continue
her
dry
suckling
at
his
lean
chest
.
In
a
week
Nicole
forgot
her
flash
about
Tommy
—
she
had
not
much
memory
for
people
and
forgot
them
easily
But
in
the
first
hot
blast
of
June
she
heard
he
was
in
Nice
.
He
wrote
a
little
note
to
them
both
—
and
she
opened
it
under
the
parasol
,
together
with
other
mail
they
had
brought
from
the
house
.
After
reading
it
she
tossed
it
over
to
Dick
,
and
in
exchange
he
threw
a
telegram
into
the
lap
of
her
beach
pajamas
:
Dears
will
be
at
Gausses
to
-
morrow
unfortunately
without
mother
am
counting
on
seeing
you
.
"
I
’
ll
be
glad
to
see
her
,
"
said
Nicole
,
grimly
.
But
she
went
to
the
beach
with
Dick
next
morning
with
a
renewal
of
her
apprehension
that
Dick
was
contriving
at
some
desperate
solution
.
Since
the
evening
on
Golding
’
s
yacht
she
had
sensed
what
was
going
on
.
So
delicately
balanced
was
she
between
an
old
foothold
that
had
always
guaranteed
her
security
,
and
the
imminence
of
a
leap
from
which
she
must
alight
changed
in
the
very
chemistry
of
blood
and
muscle
,
that
she
did
not
dare
bring
the
matter
into
the
true
forefront
of
consciousness
.
The
figures
of
Dick
and
herself
,
mutating
,
undefined
,
appeared
as
spooks
caught
up
into
a
fantastic
dance
.
For
months
every
word
had
seemed
to
have
an
overtone
of
some
other
meaning
,
soon
to
be
resolved
under
circumstances
that
Dick
would
determine
.
Though
this
state
of
mind
was
perhaps
more
hopeful
—
the
long
years
of
sheer
being
had
had
an
enlivening
effect
on
the
parts
of
her
nature
that
early
illness
had
killed
,
that
Dick
had
not
reached
—
through
no
fault
of
his
but
simply
because
no
one
nature
can
extend
entirely
inside
another
—
it
was
still
disquieting
.
The
most
unhappy
aspect
of
their
relations
was
Dick
’
s
growing
indifference
,
at
present
personified
by
too
much
drink
;
Nicole
did
not
know
whether
she
was
to
be
crushed
or
spared
—
Dick
’
s
voice
,
throbbing
with
insincerity
,
confused
the
issue
;
she
couldn
’
t
guess
how
he
was
going
to
behave
next
upon
the
tortuously
slow
unrolling
of
the
carpet
,
nor
what
would
happen
at
the
end
,
at
the
moment
of
the
leap
.
For
what
might
occur
thereafter
she
had
no
anxiety
—
she
suspected
that
that
would
be
the
lifting
of
a
burden
,
an
unblinding
of
eyes
.
Nicole
had
been
designed
for
change
,
for
flight
,
with
money
as
fins
and
wings
.
The
new
state
of
things
would
be
no
more
than
if
a
racing
chassis
,
concealed
for
years
under
the
body
of
a
family
limousine
,
should
be
stripped
to
its
original
self
.
Nicole
could
feel
the
fresh
breeze
already
—
the
wrench
it
was
she
feared
,
and
the
dark
manner
of
its
coming
.
The
Divers
went
out
on
the
beach
with
her
white
suit
and
his
white
trunks
very
white
against
the
color
of
their
bodies
.
Nicole
saw
Dick
peer
about
for
the
children
among
the
confused
shapes
and
shadows
of
many
umbrellas
,
and
as
his
mind
temporarily
left
her
,
ceasing
to
grip
her
,
she
looked
at
him
with
detachment
,
and
decided
that
he
was
seeking
his
children
,
not
protectively
but
for
protection
.
Probably
it
was
the
beach
he
feared
,
like
a
deposed
ruler
secretly
visiting
an
old
court
.
She
had
come
to
hate
his
world
with
its
delicate
jokes
and
politenesses
,
forgetting
that
for
many
years
it
was
the
only
world
open
to
her
.
Let
him
look
at
it
—
his
beach
,
perverted
now
to
the
tastes
of
the
tasteless
;
he
could
search
it
for
a
day
and
find
no
stone
of
the
Chinese
Wall
he
had
once
erected
around
it
,
no
footprint
of
an
old
friend
.
For
a
moment
Nicole
was
sorry
it
was
so
;
remembering
the
glass
he
had
raked
out
of
the
old
trash
heap
,
remembering
the
sailor
trunks
and
sweaters
they
had
bought
in
a
Nice
back
street
—
garments
that
afterward
ran
through
a
vogue
in
silk
among
the
Paris
couturiers
,
remembering
the
simple
little
French
girls
climbing
on
the
breakwaters
crying
"
Dites
donc
!
Dites
donc
!
"
like
birds
,
and
the
ritual
of
the
morning
time
,
the
quiet
restful
extraversion
toward
sea
and
sun
—
many
inventions
of
his
,
buried
deeper
than
the
sand
under
the
span
of
so
few
years
.
.
.
.
