"When you don't see me, do you
believe that I exist?"
"Exist? Most charmingly! My dear Lena, you don't know your own
advantages. Why, your voice alone would be enough to make you
unforgettable!"
"Oh, I didn't mean forgetting in that way. I dare say if I were to
die you would remember me right enough. And what good would that be to
anybody? It's while I am alive that I want--"
Heyst stood by her chair, a stalwart figure imperfectly lighted. The
broad shoulders, the martial face that was like a disguise of his
disarmed soul, were lost in the gloom above the plane of light in which
his feet were planted. He suffered from a trouble with which she had
nothing to do. She had no general conception of the conditions of the
existence he had offered to her. Drawn into its peculiar stagnation she
remained unrelated to it because of her ignorance.
For instance, she could never perceive the prodigious improbability of
the arrival of that boat. She did not seem to be thinking of it. Perhaps
she had already forgotten the fact herself. And Heyst resolved suddenly
to say nothing more of it. It was not that he shrank from alarming her.
Not feeling anything definite himself he could not imagine a precise
effect being produced on her by any amount of explanation. There is a
quality in events which is apprehended differently by different minds
or even by the same mind at different times.
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