She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. “Call me Cathy, John. I could never make you understand. ’ ‘You speak it very well,’ Gerald said encouragingly. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. It made her hungry.
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