She thought: "I'll
never love any one again. Mary took my Friend away--and then she wasn't
there herself. There isn't anybody."
Then it suddenly occurred to her that she need never be put through the
agony of her denials again, that she could believe what she liked, make
up stories.
Her Friend would, of course, never come to see her any more, but at
least now she would be able to think about him. She would be allowed to
remember. Her brain was drowsy, her eyes half closed. Through the
humming air something was coming; the dark curtains were parted, the
light of the late afternoon sun was faint yellow upon the opposite
wall--there was a little breeze. Drowsily, drowsily, her drooping eyes
felt the light, the stir of the air, the sense that some one was in the
room.
She looked up; she gave a cry! He had come back! He had come back after
all!
CHAPTER VIII
SARAH TREFUSIS
I
Sarah Trefusis lived, with her mother, in the smallest house in March
Square, a really tiny house, like a box, squeezed breathlessly between
two fat buildings, but looking, with its white paint and green doors,
smarter than either of them.
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