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absence. Once she had spoken his father's name
with a ringing joyand he had answered roughly and had seen her shrink
back into herself. Her little hands trembledfumbling apologetically with
the shabby bag she always carried. She was like a girl whoin one
withering tragic momenthad become old. But his aching love found no
outletno word of regret or tenderness. It recoiled back on himself in a dead
weight of pain.
He began to watch himself like a sick man. There were hours when he
knew his brain to be losing edge--black periods of hideous impotency
whichwhen they passedleft him shaken and wet with terror. Supposing
at the end of everythingbe failed? He didn't care so much. His very power
of caring had been dissipated. His single purpose lost itself amidst
incompatible dreams. He was being torn asunder--and there was a limit to
endurance.
Cosgrave had failed. He couldn't concentrate. He was always looking for
happiness. He had fallen in love and wasted himself and made a mess of his
life.
It was mad to fall in love.
And yet the worst dread of all was the dread of losing Francey. It seemed
even the most unreasonablefor they had their work in common and they
loved one another. There was [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]yilai:
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