The power taken from his hands, the
interrupted life, the dark future, the beginning again, if ever his sight
came back: it was sickening, heartbreaking.
She saw it all in his face, but as if some inward voice had spoken to
him, his face cleared, the swift-moving hands clasped in front of him,
and he said quietly: "But because it's life, there it is. You have to
take it as it comes."
He stopped a moment, and in the pause she reached out her hand with a
sudden passionate gesture, to touch his shoulder, but she restrained
herself in time.
He seemed to feel what she was doing, and turned his face towards her, a
slight flush coming to his cheeks. He smiled, and then he said: "How
wonderful you are! You look--"
He checked himself, then added with a quizzical smile:
"You are looking very well to-day, Miss Fleda Druse, very well indeed. I
like that dark-red dress you're wearing."
An almost frightened look came into her eyes. It was as though he could
see, for she was wearing a dark-red dress--"wine-coloured," her father
called it, "maroon," Madame Bulteel called it. Could he then see, after
all?
"How did you know it was dark-red?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"Guessed it! Guessed it!" he answered almost gleefully.
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