"She has a chance of life. Rachel."
How could they say these things of Rachel? Had any one yesterday
seriously believed that Rachel was dying? They had been engaged for four
weeks. A fortnight ago she had been perfectly well. What could fourteen
days have done to bring her from that state to this? To realise what
they meant by saying that she had a chance of life was beyond him,
knowing as he did that they were engaged. He turned, still enveloped in
the same dreary mist, and walked towards the door. Suddenly he saw it
all. He saw the room and the garden, and the trees moving in the air,
they could go on without her; she could die. For the first time since
she fell ill he remembered exactly what she looked like and the way in
which they cared for each other. The immense happiness of feeling her
close to him mingled with a more intense anxiety than he had felt yet.
He could not let her die; he could not live without her. But after a
momentary struggle, the curtain fell again, and he saw nothing and felt
nothing clearly. It was all going on--going on still, in the same way as
before. Save for a physical pain when his heart beat, and the fact that
his fingers were icy cold, he did not realise that he was anxious about
anything. Within his mind he seemed to feel nothing about Rachel or
about any one or anything in the world. He went on giving orders,
arranging with Mrs.
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