Thereupon she went to bed,
nodding her old head, and muttering to herself with pursed lips.
So the eyes of Cuckoo looked in vain for something to stay the bodily
misery that stole upon her as she watched by Julian. Starvation stripped
away all the mists from her soul and left it naked with the burdened
soul it loved. Despite her increasing pain of body, Cuckoo was conscious
gradually of a light and airy delicacy of sensation that was touched with
something magical. This awful hunger made her feel strangely pure, as
if her deeds, which for years had clung round her like a brood of filthy
vampires, were falling away from her one by one. They dropped down into
the night; she was mounting into freedom. And, despite faint agonies
which at moments threatened to overwhelm her, she had never felt so
happy. Instinct led her to get away from the consciousness of her body
by leaning utterly upon her mind. She sat down by Julian, bent over him,
absorbed herself in him. One of his hands she took gently in her own.
The little act baptized him hers in her mind, and she was aware of a
great rush of happiness never known before. For she had him there in her
nest, she alone. And she loved him. Even in his drunken sleep, even in
his massacred condition of ugliness and hatefulness, he was so beautiful
to her that she could have wept from thankfulness.
Pages:
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731