moved, would have been that of a swimmer, but she made no gesture. Her figure was tense with the She looked to him like dangerous stillness of fear. one who would commit suicide by drowning in the sunlight if she could.
It was clear that this man was capable of great physical effort, but now all his effort and all his power was concentrated in looking at her. In the large white mask of his expressionless face, his eyes were like small lighted openings through which escaped, toward her, all the life that was in him. His looking at her was desperate. He looked because he could not help looking. And while he looked his strength ebbed away from him. Looking weakened him as if a vein had been opened in his wrist, but it was impossible to take his eyes from her. He thought: "Tomorrow she may be gone. It is impossible that I shall never see her again."
He dared go no nearer.
She was small and white in the centre of the lawn. High birch trees towered above her shaping the sky to a canopy over her head. Beyond her gleamed the lily pond framed in its round basin. He saw her as the mysterious and incalculable, and uncertain centre of the beautiful unsafe world. So he had Never had he felt safe with her. always seen her. Keeping her had been his gamble with fate. He had played high, he had played constantly, higher and higher, and he had believed he would win. His faith had been profound, but now he was no longer sure. He saw her in a new and terrible posture.
