Not
far away was hid the warm foam-white thigh, curved like Venus's of old
out of the sea's inaccessible purity. About her wrists garlands of old
family corals were clasped--the ocean's roses; and on her breast,
between the night of her gown and the dawn of the flesh, coral buds
flowered in beauty that could never be opened, never be rifled.
When she had crossed the room to the sofa, two aged
house-dogs--setters with gentle eyes and gentle ears and gentle
breeding--had followed her and lain down at her feet; and one with a
thrust of his nose pushed her skirts back from the toe of her slipper
and rested his chin on it.
"I will listen," she said, shrinking as yet from other speech. "I wish
simply to listen. There will be time enough afterwards for what I have
to say."
"Then I shall go straight through," he replied. "One minute now while
I put together the story for you: it is hard to make a good short
story out of so vast a one."
During these moments of waiting she saw a new picture of him. Under
stress of suffering and excitement discoveries denied to calmer hours
often arrive. It is as though consciousness receives a shock that
causes it to yawn and open its abysses: at the bottom we see new
things: sometimes creating new happiness; sometimes old happiness is
taken away.
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