"
But suddenly, swiftly, these clouds vanished, and under the imperial
blue sky of the restored confidence they dwelt in peace, a peace that
was satisfaction, a peace that, like a babe, put its trust in the
treachery of the future. This confidence endured until the next day,
when she, for an unknown cause, suddenly refused to look at him.
Mechanically he continued his task, his brain dazed, a tortured victim
of doubt, fear, suspicion. With his eyes he supplicated her to telegraph
an explanation. She replied with a stony glance that froze his blood.
There was a great difference in their respective reasons for becoming
angry. His were always foolish, but apparent, plain as the moon. Hers
were subtle, feminine, as incomprehensible as the stars, as mysterious
as the shadows at night.
They fell and soared and soared and fell in this manner until they knew
that to live without each other would be a wandering in deserts. They
had grown so intent upon the uncertainties, the variations, the
guessings of their affair that the world had become but a huge
immaterial background. In time of peace their smiles were soft and
prayerful, caresses confided to the air. In time of war, their youthful
hearts, capable of profound agony, were wrung by the intricate emotions
of doubt. They were the victims of the dread angel of affectionate
speculation that forces the brain endlessly on roads that lead nowhere.
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