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a moment against their faces. The earth gave forth its fresh-
ness. There was something strange in the tremulous night,
and something, you knew not what, seemed to be waiting;
the silence was on a sudden pregnant with meaning. Phil-
ip had a queer feeling in his heart, it seemed very full, it
seemed to melt (the hackneyed phrases expressed precisely
the curious sensation), he felt happy and anxious and ex-
pectant. To his memory came back those lines in which
Jessica and Lorenzo murmur melodious words to one an-
other, capping each other’s utterance; but passion shines
bright and clear through the conceits that amuse them.
He did not know what there was in the air that made his
senses so strangely alert; it seemed to him that he was pure
soul to enjoy the scents and the sounds and the savours of
the earth. He had never felt such an exquisite capacity for
beauty. He was afraid that Sally by speaking would break
the spell, but she said never a word, and he wanted to hear
the sound of her voice. Its low richness was the voice of the
country night itself.
They arrived at the field through which she had to walk
to get back to the huts. Philip went in to hold the gate open
for her.
‘Well, here I think I’ll say good-night.’
‘Thank you for coming all that way with me.’
She gave him her hand, and as he took it, he said:
‘If you were very nice you’d kiss me good-night like the
rest of the family.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said.
Philip had spoken in jest. He merely wanted to kiss her,