Her nature, which was just a nest of
vigorous appetites, was incapable of suspecting his gathering
disillusionment until it burst upon her.
Now with her attention set upon London ahead he could observe her.
In the beginning he had never seemed to be observing her at all,
they dazzled one another; it seemed extraordinary now to him to note
how much he had been able to disregard. There were countless times
still when he would have dropped his observation and resumed that
mutual exaltation very gladly, but always now other things possessed
her mind. . . .
There was still an immense pleasure for him in her vigour; there was
something delightful in her pounce, even when she was pouncing on
things superficial, vulgar or destructive. She made him understand
and share the excitement of a big night at the opera, the glitter
and prettiness of a smart restaurant, the clustering little acute
adventures of a great reception of gay people, just as she had
already made him understand and sympathize with dogs. She picked up
the art world where he had laid it down, and she forced him to feel
dense and slow before he rebelled against her multitudinous
enthusiasms and admirations.
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