But in it she was conscious also
of the opposite of day, of the opposite of heat. At that moment she
had a double consciousness. For she felt the salt coolness of the
night around the lonely island. And she heard not only the street
singer, but Ruffo in his boat.
Ruffo--in his boat.
Suddenly she could not see anything. Her sight was drowned by tears.
She got up at once. She felt for her purse, found it, opened it, felt
for money, found some coins, laid them down on the table, and began to
walk. She was driven by fear, the fear of falling down in the sun in
the sight of all men, and crying, sobbing, with her face against the
ground. She heard a shout. Some one gave her a violent push, thrusting
her forward. She stumbled, recovered herself. A passer-by had saved
her from a tram. She did not know it. She did not look at him or thank
him. He went away, swearing at the English. Where was she going?
She must go home. She must go to the island. She must go to Vere, to
Gaspare, to Emile--to her life.
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