Page 420 - sons-and-lovers

that nothing was wrong. He talked to her now with some of
the old fervour with which he had talked to Miriam, but he
cared less about the talk; he did not bother about his con-
clusions.
One day in October they went out to Lambley for tea.
Suddenly they came to a halt on top of the hill. He climbed
and sat on a gate, she sat on the stile. The afternoon was
perfectly still, with a dim haze, and yellow sheaves glowing
through. They were quiet.
‘How old were you when you married?’ he asked quietly.
‘Twenty-two.’
Her voice was subdued, almost submissive. She would
tell him now.
‘It is eight years ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘And when did you leave him?’
‘Three years ago.’
‘Five years! Did you love him when you married him?’
She was silent for some time; then she said slowly:
‘I thought I did—more or less. I didn’t think much about
it. And he wanted me. I was very prudish then.’
‘And you sort of walked into it without thinking?’
‘Yes. I seemed to have been asleep nearly all my life.’
‘Somnambule? But—when did you wake up?’
‘I don’t know that I ever did, or ever have—since I was
a child.’
‘You went to sleep as you grew to be a woman? How
queer! And he didn’t wake you?’
‘No; he never got there,’ she replied, in a monotone.

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