What Dreams May Come by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton
page 31 of 148 (20%)
page 31 of 148 (20%)
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if independently of his own volition, over to his desk. He felt very
strangely; he did not remember to have ever felt so strangely before. His head had become suddenly confused, but at the same time he was aware that his brain had thrown open its doors to a new arrival, and that the visitor was trying to make itself heard. It appeared to be a visitor of great importance, and Dartmouth was conscious that it had presented itself to his perceptions in the form of an extraordinarily strong impulse, a great and clamorous Desire. He had been aware of the same desire before, but only in an abstract way, a general purposeless longing; but now this peremptory, loudly-knocking consciousness was vaguely suggesting another--just behind. It would almost seem, if it were not too preposterous a supposition, as if that second struggling consciousness were trying to announce itself under the high-sounding title of--what? He could not formulate it. If his brain were only not so confused! What could so suddenly have affected him? He was always so clear-headed and logical. Was he going to be ill? When he reached his desk he sat down before it and mechanically took up his pen. He leaned his head on his hand, like a man in a state of mental exhaustion, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them wide, with an exclamation which was almost a cry; and of his usual calm repose there was not a trace remaining. He leaned forward breathlessly and put his pen to the paper. "Her eyes! Her skin! Her form!" he muttered uncertainly. "Her--her--her--Oh! _what_ is it? _Why_ cannot I say it? It has come at last--_she_ was right after all--but the words--the words--why will not they come? The music is there--a great rhythm and harmony--but the words are floating about like wraiths of mist. If I could only grasp and crystallize them, and set them to that wonderful music, the world--the world would rise at last and call me great! Her eyes--her hair--oh, my God, _what_ is it?" He threw down his pen and staggered to his feet. His face was blanched |
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