The Wings of the Dove Henry James (android based ebook reader TXT) đ
- Author: Henry James
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Whatever it had been determined by as the different hours recurred to him, it took on at present a prompt connection with an effect produced for him in truth more than once during the past week, only now much intensified. This effect he had already noted and named: it was that of the attitude assumed by his friend in the presence of the degree of response on his part to Mrs. Lowderâs welcome which she couldnât possibly have failed to notice. She had noticed it, and she had beautifully shown him so; wearing in its honour the finest shade of studied serenity, a shade almost of gaiety over the workings of time. Everything of course was relative, with the shadow they were living under; but her condonation of the way in which he now, for confidence, distinguished Aunt Maud had almost the note of cheer. She had so by her own air consecrated the distinction, invidious in respect to herself though it might be; and nothing, really, more than this demonstration, could have given him had he still wanted it the measure of her superiority. It was doubtless for that matter this superiority alone that on the winter noon gave smooth decision to her step and charming courage to her eyesâ âa courage that deepened in them when he had presently got to what he did want. He had delayed after she had joined him not much more than long enough for him to say to her, drawing her hand into his arm and turning off where they had turned of old, that he wouldnât pretend he hadnât lately had moments of not quite believing he should ever again be so happy. She answered, passing over the reasons, whatever they had been, of his doubt, that her own belief was in high happiness for them if they would only have patience; though nothing at the same time could be dearer than his idea for their walk. It was only make-believe of course, with what had taken place for them, that they couldnât meet at home; she spoke of their opportunities as suffering at no point. He had at any rate soon let her know that he wished the present one to suffer at none, and in a quiet spot, beneath a great wintry tree, he let his entreaty come sharp.
âWeâve played our dreadful game and weâve lost. We owe it to ourselves, we owe it to our feeling for ourselves and for each other, not to wait another day. Our marriage willâ âfundamentally, somehow, donât you see?â âright everything thatâs wrong, and I canât express to you my impatience. Weâve only to announce itâ âand it takes off the weight.â
âTo âannounceâ it?â Kate asked. She spoke as if not understanding, though she had listened to him without confusion.
âTo accomplish it thenâ âtomorrow if you will; do it and announce it as done. Thatâs the least part of itâ âafter it nothing will matter. We shall be so right,â he said, âthat we shall be strong; we shall only wonder at our past fear. It will seem an ugly madness. It will seem a bad dream.â
She looked at him without flinchingâ âwith the look she had brought at his call; but he felt now the strange chill of her brightness. âMy dear man, what has happened to you?â
âWell, that I can bear it no longer. Thatâs simply what has happened. Something has snapped, has broken in me, and here I am. Itâs as I am that you must have me.â
He saw her try for a time to appear to consider it; but he saw her also not consider it. Yet he saw her, felt her, furtherâ âhe heard her, with her clear voiceâ âtry to be intensely kind with him. âI donât see, you know, what has changed.â She had a large strange smile. âWeâve been going on together so well, and you suddenly desert me?â
It made him helplessly gaze. âYou call it so âwellâ? Youâve touches, upon my soulâ â!â
âI call it perfectâ âfrom my original point of view. Iâm just where I was; and you must give me some better reason than you do, my dear, for your not being. It seems to me,â she continued, âthat weâre only right as to what has been between us so long as we do wait. I donât think we wish to have behaved like fools.â He took in while she talked her imperturbable consistency; which it was quietly, queerly hopeless to see her stand there and breathe into their mild remembering air. He had brought her there to be moved, and she was only immoveableâ âwhich was not moreover, either, because she didnât understand. She understood everything, and things he refused to; and she had reasons, deep down, the sense of which nearly sickened him. She had too again most of all her strange significant smile. âOf course if itâs that you really know somethingâ â?â It was quite conceivable and possible to her, he could see, that he did. But he didnât even know what she meant, and he only looked at her in gloom. His gloom however didnât upset her.
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