His eyes were closed;
he would not see if she gave way now. But she would not cry--she would
not. One sob came--but that was all. Well, there was nothing to be done
now but get into bed too. She undressed, and turned out the light. He
was in a stertorous sleep. And lying there, with eyes wide open, staring
into the dark, a smile came on her lips--a very strange smile! She was
thinking of all those preposterous young wives she had read of, who,
blushing, trembling, murmur into the ears of their young husbands that
they "have something--something to tell them!"
VI
Looking at Fiorsen, next morning, still sunk in heavy sleep, her first
thought was: 'He looks exactly the same.' And, suddenly, it seemed queer
to her that she had not been, and still was not, disgusted. It was
all too deep for disgust, and somehow, too natural. She took this new
revelation of his unbridled ways without resentment. Besides, she had
long known of this taste of his--one cannot drink brandy and not betray
it.
She stole noiselessly from bed, noiselessly gathered up his boots
and clothes all tumbled on to a chair, and took them forth to the
dressing-room. There she held the garments up to the early light and
brushed them, then, noiseless, stole back to bed, with needle and thread
and her lace. No one must know; not even he must know. For the moment
she had forgotten that other thing so terrifically important.
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