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missed it for the world. Blunt in a ragged old jacket and a white

tie and that incisive polite voice of his seemed strange and weird.



It seemed as though he were inventing it all rather angrily. I had

doubts as to your existence."



"Mr. Blunt is very much interested in my story."

"Anybody would be," I said. "I was. I didn't sleep a wink. I was



expecting to see you soon - and even then I had my doubts."

"As to my existence?"



"It wasn't exactly that, though of course I couldn't tell that you

weren't a product of Captain Blunt's sleeplessness. He seemed to



dread exceedingly to be left alone and your story might have been a

device to detain us . . ."



"He hasn't enough imagination for that," she said.

"It didn't occur to me. But there was Mills, who apparently



believed in your existence. I could trust Mills. My doubts were

about the propriety. I couldn't see any good reason for being



taken to see you. Strange that it should be my connection with the

sea which brought me here to the Villa."



"Unexpected perhaps."

"No. I mean particularly strange and significant."



"Why?"

"Because my friends are in the habit of telling me (and each other)



that the sea is my only love. They were always chaffing me because

they couldn't see or guess in my life at any woman, open or secret.



. ."

"And is that really so?" she inquired negligently.



"Why, yes. I don't mean to say that I am like an innocent shepherd

in one of those interminable stories of the eighteenth century.



But I don't throw the word love about indiscriminately. It may be

all true about the sea; but some people would say that they love



sausages."

"You are horrible."



"I am surprised."

"I mean your choice of words."



"And you have never uttered a word yet that didn't change into a

pearl as it dropped from your lips. At least not before me."



She glanced down deliberately and said, "This is better. But I

don't see any of them on the floor."



"It's you who are horrible in the implications of your language.

Don't see any on the floor! Haven't I caught up and treasured them



all in my heart? I am not the animal from which sausages are

made."



She looked at me suavely and then with the sweetest possible smile

breathed out the word: "No."



And we both laughed very loud. O! days of innocence! On this

occasion we parted from each other on a light-hearted note. But



already I had acquired the conviction that there was nothing more

lovable in the world than that woman; nothing more life-giving,



inspiring, and illuminating than the emanation of her charm. I

meant it absolutely - not excepting the light of the sun.



From this there was only one step further to take. The step into a

conscious surrender; the open perception that this charm, warming



like a flame, was also all-revealing like a great light; giving new

depth to shades, new brilliance to colours, an amazing vividness to



all sensations and vitality to all thoughts: so that all that had

been lived before seemed to have been lived in a drab world and



with a languid pulse.

A great revelation this. I don't mean to say it was soul-shaking.



The soul was already a captive before doubt, anguish, or dismay

could touch its surrender and its exaltation. But all the same the



revelation turned many things into dust; and, amongst others, the

sense of the careless freedom of my life. If that life ever had



any purpose or any aim outside itself I would have said that it

threw a shadow across its path. But it hadn't. There had been no



path. But there was a shadow, the inseparablecompanion of all

light. No illumination can sweep all mystery out of the world.



After the departed darkness the shadows remain, more mysterious

because as if more enduring; and one feels a dread of them from






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