THE LATER LIFE
279
she watched him lose himself . . . in movement, speed and space . . .
"Poor boy!" she thought.
Then she sank into a chair, while the room swam round her. She closed her eyes and her hands fell limply at her side. So she sat for half an hour, unconscious, alone . . . as if the new life had been too keen, too intense, with its pure air, its honesty . . . too rare and keen in its cold-blue ether . . . and as if she were swooning away in it . . .
