American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
She laughed in clear tones. "Well then, we'll admit that you've done
everything but frighten me."
He looked at her with surpassing gloom. "No--that again is one of the
most dreadful features. You'll positively like it--what's to come.
You'll be caught up in a chariot of fire like the prophet--wasn't there,
was there one?--of old. That's exactly why--if one could but have done
it--you'd have been to be kept ignorant and helpless. There's something
or other in Latin that says it's the finest things that change the most
easily for the worse. You already enjoy your dishonour and revel in your
shame. It's too late--you're lost!"
CHAPTER VI
All this was as pleasant a manner of passing the time as any other, for
it didn't prevent his old-world corner from closing round him more
entirely, nor stand in the way of his making out from day to day some
new source as well as some new effect of its virtue. He was really
scared at moments at some of the liberties he took in talk--at finding
himself so familiar; for the great note of the place was just that a
certain modern ease had never crossed its threshold, that quick
intimacies and quick oblivions were a stranger to its air. It had known
in all its days no rude, no loud invasion. Serenely unconscious of most
contemporary things, it had been so of nothing so much as of the
diffused social practice of running in and out. Granger held his breath
on occasions to think how Addie would run. There were moments when, more
than at others, for some reason, he heard her step on the staircase and
her cry in the hall. If he nevertheless played freely with the idea with
which we have shown him as occupied it wasn't that in all palpable ways
he didn't sacrifice so far as mortally possible to stillness. He only
hovered, ever so lightly, to take up again his thread. She wouldn't hear
of his leaving her, of his being in the least fit again, as she said, to
travel. She spoke of the journey to London--which was in fact a matter
of many hours--as an experiment fraught with lurking complications. He
added then day to day, yet only hereby, as he reminded her, giving other
complications a larger chance to multiply. He kept it before her, when
there was nothing else to do, that she must consider; after which he had
his times of fear that she perhaps really would make for him this
sacrifice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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