There’s no great mercy in our not losing it,”
He said. “God will not hear you if you thank him
Only for that. A weary spark of sense,
Or a dull feel of reason, is not mercy.
I have not changed. I’m only some days older
Than when they brought you back from there—brought you
And your white face together. You looked at me,
And I saw your white face.”
He said. “God will not hear you if you thank him
Only for that. A weary spark of sense,
Or a dull feel of reason, is not mercy.
I have not changed. I’m only some days older
Than when they brought you back from there—brought you
And your white face together. You looked at me,
And I saw your white face.”
She smiled at him,
And touched his hand with hers: “You are good to me.
Whatever you do, I shall not be here long.
Whatever you are, you have been good to me.
I shall not be afraid of you again—
No, nor of Andred. When he knows of this,
He will bow down to your authority
Like a small hungry dog and lick your fingers.
And all his insane hatred for Tristram,
And all his worse than insane love for me . . .
Poor loveless atom!”
And touched his hand with hers: “You are good to me.
Whatever you do, I shall not be here long.
Whatever you are, you have been good to me.
I shall not be afraid of you again—
No, nor of Andred. When he knows of this,
He will bow down to your authority
Like a small hungry dog and lick your fingers.
And all his insane hatred for Tristram,
And all his worse than insane love for me . . .
Poor loveless atom!”
“Andred?” Mark said, scowling,
And went on with a hoarse unhappy laugh:
“Morgan, when she was here, was playing with him
And went on with a hoarse unhappy laugh:
“Morgan, when she was here, was playing with him
[ 179 ]
