"I love you so." The wheels of the taxi were the counterpoint to his
voice.
"What is the good of my turning away when every bit of him bites into my
consciousness?" she thought.
The road stretched ahead of them like ciré satin with a piping of
lights. She had changed her position a little, restless under the
constraint of his eyes. A lamp lit her up for him, her face white and
drawn, her eyelids pulled over her eyes like a heavy curtain.
"One feels that one could skate down the street," she murmured, "it
looks like stuff worn thin with time and use--the shabby shiny surface
of the night."
On and on they went.
"We can't get anywhere," he said.
A lamp lit up her face.
It looked so weary and impotent as if she had abdicated the uneven
struggle with circumstances.
On they raced, down the slippery ribbon of road.
There was a bump and she fell towards him. He stretched out his arm and
held her firm and secure. He wanted her to feel that it was a rampart
and not an insidious outpost of passion quick to take advantage.
"Let me kiss you once, for God's sake," his voice was harsh.
She turned her face towards him. The passing lamp showed her resigned,
pitying, tender.
"Don't look like that," he said--sharp with the things he had wanted.
"I'm sorry," her voice was velvety and comforting.
Yet another lamp, there was a faint smile on her lips--breathed as it
were from him. He huddled into his corner, hurt by her compassion.
"I hate to see the moon," she said, "cynical and prying--an eavesdropper
of a moon."
Again a light gave him a fleeting vision of her--photographed on to his
soul.
Her deep dark eyes, heavy with distress, the corners of her mouth
repudiating the misery of the moment. She put her hand on his arm.
"Don't," she said, "there is in life such an incoherent mass of
interwoven strands. And perhaps something comes and tears them all to
bits."
Her voice was chanting--as if she were singing him a lullaby--then it
became light again.
"Wait till the next lamp," she said. "And you will see in my eyes the
old laughter that you used to love."
They turned down a side street and there were no more lights.
Abruptly the taxi stopped.
She got out. Her pale gold coat was a continuation of the moon.
She turned her brooding eyes away from him.
"Thank you for taking me home," she said; her voice had broken. She
looked back--a smile turned on to her lips.
He heard her latch key. The door opened and shut.