At the thought she moved uneasily, shifting her position in the chair.
Sunset, and the swift winter twilight, had tinted, then dimmed, the
light in the room. On the oak-beamed ceiling, across the ivory rosettes,
a single bar of red sunlight lay, broken by rafter and plaster
foliation. She watched it turn to rose, to ashes. And, closing her eyes,
she lay very still and motionless in the gray shadows closing over all.
He had not yet spoken when again she lifted her eyes and saw him sitting
in the dusk, one arm resting across his knee, his body bent slightly
forward, his gaze vacant.
Into himself again!--silently companioned by the shadows of old
thoughts; far from her--farther than he had ever been. For a while she
lay there, watching him, scarcely breathing; then a faint shiver of
utter loneliness came over her--of desire for his attention, his voice,
his friendship, and the expression of it. But he never moved; his eyes
seemed dull and unseeing; his face strangely gaunt to her, unfamiliar,
hard.
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