| 431 | 432 | 433 | 434 | 435 |
| 1 | 236 | 472 | 708 | 944 |
|
"
What do you mean?" said Gwynplaine.
Dea answered,--
"
"
"
To see is a thing which conceals the true."
No," said Gwynplaine.
But yes," replied Dea, "since you say you are ugly."
She reflected a moment, and then said, "Story-teller!"
Gwynplaine felt the joy of having confessed and of not being believed.
Both his conscience and his love were consoled.
Thus they had reached, Dea sixteen, Gwynplaine nearly twenty-five. They
were not, as it would now be expressed, "more advanced" than the first
day. Less even; for it may be remembered that on their wedding night she
was nine months and he ten years old. A sort of holy childhood had
continued in their love. Thus it sometimes happens that the belated
nightingale prolongs her nocturnal song till dawn.
Their caresses went no further than pressing hands, or lips brushing a
naked arm. Soft, half-articulate whispers sufficed them.
433
Page
Quick Jump
|