Page 516 - women-in-love

side in the night. Thank God the night had passed almost
away. At five he must go, and she would be released. Then
she could relax and fill her own place. Now she was driven
up against his perfect sleeping motion like a knife white-
hot on a grindstone. There was something monstrous about
him, about his juxtaposition against her.
The last hour was the longest. And yet, at last it passed.
Her heart leapt with relief—yes, there was the slow, strong
stroke of the church clock—at last, after this night of eter-
nity. She waited to catch each slow, fatal reverberation.
‘Three—four—five!’ There, it was finished. A weight rolled
off her.
She raised herself, leaned over him tenderly, and kissed
him. She was sad to wake him. After a few moments, she
kissed him again. But he did not stir. The darling, he was
so deep in sleep! What a shame to take him out of it. She let
him lie a little longer. But he must go—he must really go.
With full over-tenderness she took his face between her
hands, and kissed his eyes. The eyes opened, he remained
motionless, looking at her. Her heart stood still. To hide
her face from his dreadful opened eyes, in the darkness, she
bent down and kissed him, whispering:
‘You must go, my love.’
But she was sick with terror, sick.
He put his arms round her. Her heart sank.
‘But you must go, my love. It’s late.’
‘What time is it?’ he said.
Strange, his man’s voice. She quivered. It was an intoler-
able oppression to her.

516 Women in Love