He fancied he saw the
sparkle of the starlight in her hair.
She came towards him a few steps, and then she stopped. "Will," she
said, and her voice had a piteous tremble in it, "won't you speak to
me? Don't you--don't you know me?"
Her voice awoke him, brought him down from the soaring heights of
imagination as it were with a thud. He strode forward and caught her
hands in his.
"Good heavens, Daisy!" he said. "I thought I was dreaming! How on
earth--"
And there he stopped dead, checked in mid career, for she was leaning
back from him, leaning back with all her strength that he might not
kiss her.
He stood, still holding her hands, and looked at her. There was a
curious, choked sensation at his throat, as if he had swallowed ashes.
She had come back to him--she had come back to him indeed, but he had
a feeling that she was somehow beyond his reach, further away from him
in that moment of incredible reunion than she had ever been during all
the weary months of their separation. This woman with the pale face
and tragic eyes was a total stranger to him. Small wonder that he had
thought himself to be dreaming!
With a furious effort he collected himself. He let her hands slip
from his. "Come in here," he said, forcing his dry throat to speech by
sheer strength of will.
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