"Well, then, what will it be like when we're married? What are the
things people do feel?"
She seemed doubtful.
"Sit on the floor and let me look at you," he commanded. Resting her
chin on his knee, she looked straight at him.
He examined her curiously.
"You're not beautiful," he began, "but I like your face. I like the
way your hair grows down in a point, and your eyes too--they never see
anything. Your mouth's too big, and your cheeks would be better if they
had more colour in them. But what I like about your face is that it
makes one wonder what the devil you're thinking about--it makes me want
to do that--" He clenched his fist and shook it so near her that she
started back, "because now you look as if you'd blow my brains out.
There are moments," he continued, "when, if we stood on a rock together,
you'd throw me into the sea."
Hypnotised by the force of his eyes in hers, she repeated, "If we stood
on a rock together--"
To be flung into the sea, to be washed hither and thither, and driven
about the roots of the world--the idea was incoherently delightful. She
sprang up, and began moving about the room, bending and thrusting aside
the chairs and tables as if she were indeed striking through the waters.
He watched her with pleasure; she seemed to be cleaving a passage for
herself, and dealing triumphantly with the obstacles which would hinder
their passage through life.
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