The nearness of their bodies in
this vast universe, and the minuteness of their bodies, seemed to him
absurd and laughable. Nothing mattered, he repeated; they had no power,
no hope. He leant on the window-sill, thinking, until he almost forgot
the time and the place. Nevertheless, although he was convinced that
it was absurd and laughable, and that they were small and hopeless, he
never lost the sense that these thoughts somehow formed part of a life
which he and Rachel would live together.
Owing perhaps to the change of doctor, Rachel appeared to be rather
better next day. Terribly pale and worn though Helen looked, there was a
slight lifting of the cloud which had hung all these days in her eyes.
"She talked to me," she said voluntarily. "She asked me what day of the
week it was, like herself."
Then suddenly, without any warning or any apparent reason, the tears
formed in her eyes and rolled steadily down her cheeks. She cried
with scarcely any attempt at movement of her features, and without any
attempt to stop herself, as if she did not know that she was crying. In
spite of the relief which her words gave him, Terence was dismayed by
the sight; had everything given way? Were there no limits to the power
of this illness? Would everything go down before it? Helen had always
seemed to him strong and determined, and now she was like a child.
Pages:
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506