In the Days of the Comet by H. G. (Herbert George) Wells
page 64 of 312 (20%)
page 64 of 312 (20%)
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when I was away, of the shock and misery of finding her estranged
and cool. She looked at me, feeling the emotion of my speech and impervious to its ideas. I had no doubt--whatever poverty in my words, coolly written down now--that I was eloquent then. I meant most intensely what I said, indeed I was wholly concentrated upon it. I was set upon conveying to her with absolute sincerity my sense of distance, and the greatness of my desire. I toiled toward her painfully and obstinately through a jungle of words. Her face changed very slowly--by such imperceptible degrees as when at dawn light comes into a clear sky. I could feel that I touched her, that her hardness was in some manner melting, her determination softening toward hesitations. The habit of an old familiarity lurked somewhere within her. But she would not let me reach her. "No," she cried abruptly, starting into motion. She laid a hand on my arm. A wonderful new friendliness came into her voice. "It's impossible, Willie. Everything is different now--everything. We made a mistake. We two young sillies made a mistake and everything is different for ever. Yes, yes." She turned about. "Nettie!" cried I, and still protesting, pursued her along the narrow alley between the staging toward the hot-house door. I pursued her like an accusation, and she went before me like one who is guilty and ashamed. So I recall it now. She would not let me talk to her again. |
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