Exultation shone in her eyes and beat in her heart.
The glory of being alone with this drunken creature, his protector, his
guide, lay round the girl like a glory of heaven. As she looked at his
white face, and pressed her handkerchief against the blood that trickled
from his forehead, wild tears of triumph, passionate tears of joy and
determination, swam to her eyes. She felt at last the pride and the
self-respect of one who possesses a will, and who has exercised it.
That was a justification of life to her mind. Something had given even
to her the power to snatch this man to herself from the jaws of dark
London, to carry him off, a succoured prey, from the world laughing at
his degradation. She bent over him in the rattling cab and touched his
face with her lips. Was that a kiss? She, who had known so many kisses,
wondered. It was the going forth of her soul to purify with flame the
thing it loved.
The cab stopped; Cuckoo shook Julian. He stirred uneasily, opened his
eyes and shut them again, relapsing into something that seemed rather a
sort of fit than a slumber. She called to the cabman to come and help
her. Between them they carried Julian into the house and laid him out
upon the horsehair sofa.
"He'll come to all right, lady," said the cabby, with a pleasant grin of
knowledge.
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