It was after one o'clock and the hall seemed extraordinarily quiet when
Gloria, wide-eyed and sleepless, traversed it and pushed open the door
of his room. He had been too befuddled to open the windows and the air
was stale and thick with whiskey. She stood for a moment by his bed, a
slender, exquisitely graceful figure in her boyish silk pajamas--then
with abandon she flung herself upon him, half waking him in the frantic
emotion of her embrace, dropping her warm tears upon his throat.
"Oh, Anthony!" she cried passionately, "oh, my darling, you don't know
what you did!"
Yet in the morning, coming early into her room, he knelt down by her bed
and cried like a little boy, as though it was his heart that had
been broken.
"It seemed, last night," she said gravely, her fingers playing in his
hair, "that all the part of me you loved, the part that was worth
knowing, all the pride and fire, was gone. I knew that what was left of
me would always love you, but never in quite the same way."
Nevertheless, she was aware even then that she would forget in time and
that it is the manner of life seldom to strike but always to wear away.
Pages:
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276