"
Or if he could not say and do all that, he might at least do this. He
could pick her up in his arms and wade out to sea with her; he could
whisper and kiss and wade until the ribbed sand went from under his
feet; and then he would swim, go on whispering, kissing, and swimming
until his strength failed him--yes, he could drown himself and her, so
that they died locked fast in each other's arms, taking in death the
embraces that had been denied them in life.
He was crying now as a child cries, abandoning himself to his tears,
not troubling to wipe them away, temporarily overcome by self-pity.
But soon he shook off this particular form of weakness, and thought,
"What nonsense comes into a man's head, when he's once off his right
balance--such wild nonsense, such mad nonsense. Drown _her_, poor
innocent. Make her pay _my_ bill. Think of it even--when I'd swim the
Atlantic to save her life, if it was in danger."
And then the thought that had been the impetus or origin of these
fantastic imaginations presented itself again, and more strongly than
before. He said to himself, "This letter is my death-warrant. I can't
go on. It is my death-warrant."
He had made straight for the main ride, and he walked straight along
it in the direction of Kibworth Rocks.
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