nervousness, she felt he could not but observe. But she knew also that
he was completely blind, blind as a wolf looking at her. It was a
strange battle between her ordinary consciousness and his uncanny,
black-art consciousness.
'I don't know,' he replied, 'what would you like to do?'
He spoke emptily, his mind was sunk away.
'Oh,' she said, with easy protestation, 'I'm ready for
anything--anything will be fine for ME, I'm sure.'
And to herself she was saying: 'God, why am I so nervous--why are you
so nervous, you fool. If he sees it I'm done for forever--you KNOW
you're done for forever, if he sees the absurd state you're in.'
And she smiled to herself as if it were all child's play. Meanwhile her
heart was plunging, she was almost fainting. She could see him, in the
mirror, as he stood there behind her, tall and over-arching--blond and
terribly frightening. She glanced at his reflection with furtive eyes,
willing to give anything to save him from knowing she could see him. He
did not know she could see his reflection. He was looking
unconsciously, glisteningly down at her head, from which the hair fell
loose, as she brushed it with wild, nervous hand. She held her head
aside and brushed and brushed her hair madly. For her life, she could
not turn round and face him. For her life, SHE COULD NOT. And the
knowledge made her almost sink to the ground in a faint, helpless,
spent. She was aware of his frightening, impending figure standing
close behind her, she was aware of his hard, strong, unyielding chest,
close upon her back. And she felt she could not bear it any more, in a
few minutes she would fall down at his feet, grovelling at his feet,
and letting him destroy her.
The thought pricked up all her sharp intelligence and presence of mind.
She dared not turn round to him--and there he stood motionless,
unbroken. Summoning all her strength, she said, in a full, resonant,
nonchalant voice, that was forced out with all her remaining
self-control:
'Oh, would you mind looking in that bag behind there and giving me
my--'
Here her power fell inert. 'My what--my what--?' she screamed in
silence to herself.
But he had started round, surprised and startled that she should ask
him to look in her bag, which she always kept so VERY private to
herself.
She turned now, her face white, her dark eyes blazing with uncanny,
overwrought excitement. She saw him stooping to the bag, undoing the
loosely buckled strap, unattentive.
'Your what?' he asked.
'Oh, a little enamel box--yellow--with a design of a cormorant plucking
her breast--'
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