酷兔英语

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I sprang to my feet while she turned about and came towards me

bravely, with a wistful smile on her bold, adolescent face.



"It seems to me," she went on in a voice like a wave of love

itself, "that one should try to understand before one sets up for



being unforgiving. Forgiveness is a very fine word. It is a fine

invocation."



"There are other fine words in the language such as fascination,

fidelity, also frivolity; and as for invocations there are plenty



of them, too; for instance: alas, heaven help me."

We stood very close together, her narrow eyes were as enigmatic as



ever, but that face, which, like some ideal conception of art, was

incapable of anything like untruth and grimace, expressed by some



mysterious means such a depth of infinitepatience that I felt

profoundly ashamed of myself.



"This thing is beyond words altogether," I said. "Beyond

forgiveness, beyond forgetting, beyond anger or jealousy. . . .



There is nothing between us two that could make us act together."

"Then we must fall back perhaps on something within us, that - you



admit it? - we have in common."

"Don't be childish," I said. "You give one with a perpetual and



intense freshness feelings and sensations that are as old as the

world itself, and you imagine that your enchantment can be broken



off anywhere, at any time! But it can't be broken. And

forgetfulness, like everything else, can only come from you. It's



an impossible situation to stand up against."

She listened with slightly parted lips as if to catch some further



resonances.

"There is a sort of generousardour about you," she said, "which I



don't really understand. No, I don't know it. Believe me, it is

not of myself I am thinking. And you - you are going out to-night



to make another landing."

"Yes, it is a fact that before many hours I will be sailing away



from you to try my luck once more."

"Your wonderful luck," she breathed out.



"Oh, yes, I am wonderfully lucky. Unless the luck really is yours

- in having found somebody like me, who cares at the same time so



much and so little for what you have at heart."

"What time will you be leaving the harbour?" she asked.



"Some time between midnight and daybreak. Our men may be a little

late in joining, but certainly we will be gone before the first



streak of light."

"What freedom!" she murmured enviously. "It's something I shall



never know. . . ."

"Freedom!" I protested. "I am a slave to my word. There will be a



siring of carts and mules on a certain part of the coast, and a

most ruffianly lot of men, men you understand, men with wives and



children and sweethearts, who from the very moment they start on a

trip risk a bullet in the head at any moment, but who have a



perfect conviction that I will never fail them. That's my freedom.

I wonder what they would think if they knew of your existence."



"I don't exist," she said.

"That's easy to say. But I will go as if you didn't exist - yet



only because you do exist. You exist in me. I don't know where I

end and you begin. You have got into my heart and into my veins



and into my brain."

"Take this fancy out and trample it down in the dust," she said in



a tone of timid entreaty.

"Heroically," I suggested with the sarcasm of despair.



"Well, yes, heroically," she said; and there passed between us dim

smiles, I have no doubt of the most touching imbecility on earth.



We were standing by then in the middle of the room with its vivid

colours on a black background, with its multitude of winged figures



with pale limbs, with hair like halos or flames, all strangely

tense in their strained, decorative attitudes. Dona Rita made a



step towards me, and as I attempted to seize her hand she flung her

arms round my neck. I felt their strength drawing me towards her






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