And that just means that I love you, Anthony, with
all there is to love with in your_
GLORIA.
* * * * *
When she had addressed the letter she went to her twin bed and lay down
upon it, clasping Anthony's pillow in her arms as though by sheer force
of emotion she could metamorphize it into his warm and living body. Two
o'clock saw her dry-eyed, staring with steady persistent grief into the
darkness, remembering, remembering unmercifully, blaming herself for a
hundred fancied unkindnesses, making a likeness of Anthony akin to some
martyred and transfigured Christ. For a time she thought of him as he,
in his more sentimental moments, probably thought of himself.
At five she was still awake. A mysterious grinding noise that went on
every morning across the areaway told her the hour. She heard an alarm
clock ring, and saw a light make a yellow square on an illusory blank
wall opposite. With the half-formed resolution of following him South
immediately, her sorrow grew remote and unreal, and moved off from her
as the dark moved westward. She fell asleep.
When she awoke the sight of the empty bed beside her brought a renewal
of misery, dispelled shortly, however, by the inevitable callousness of
the bright morning.
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