I have been accustomed to put sentiment aside--to try and
ignore it. To _feel_ as I did was itself so strange a thing to me,
that I struggled to express it as prosaically as possible. Well,
then, you were astonished--and repelled. That I saw--I realized it
indeed more and more. I saw that I had perhaps done a fatal thing,
and I spent much time brooding and thinking. I felt an acute
distress, such as I had never felt in my life before--so much so
that I began even to avoid you, because I used to say to
myself--"She will go away some day--perhaps soon--and I must
accustom myself to it." And yet--'
He lifted the hand that shaded his eyes, and gave her a long
touching look.
'Yet I felt sometimes that you knew what was happening in me--and
were sorry for me. Then came the news of Desmond. Of those days
while he lay here--of the days since--I seem to know now hardly
anything in detail. One of the officers at the front said to me that
on the Somme he often lost all count of time, of the days of the
week, of the sequence of things.
Pages:
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466