He turned and saw her, chin in the flat of her palm, steadily following
his mood. He had taken but a dozen steps, and yet he had placed a
thousand miles between them. He had almost a feeling of treachery, and
to dispel these new unquiet thoughts he repeated to himself again:
"She is right."
But he did not immediately return. The memory of other loves, faint as
they had been in comparison with this all-absorbing impulse, had yet
given him a certain objective point of view. He saw himself clearly, and
he understood what of pain the future had in store for him.
"How I shall suffer!" he said to himself.
"You are going so far away from me," she said suddenly, warned by some
woman's instinct.
He was startled at the conjunction of her words and his moods. He
returned hastily, and sat down beside her. She took his head in her
hands and looked anxiously into his eyes.
"What is it?" she said. "You are afraid?"
"A little," he said reluctantly.
"Of what--of the months that will come?"
"Of the past."
"What do you mean?" she said, withdrawing a little as though disturbed
by the thought.
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