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RAWN back a little, they looked at each other with startled eyes—people who have been awake, now in a dream. Like a dream he saw blue iris just beneath his gaze, a dull wave of hair, white hands in the dusk, and felt a hurrying heart. The heavenly interval of wonder was upon him, when even desire halts, abashed at the miracle. Why should she suddenly twist herself from him as if he had become an enemy? She had turned to him willingly, not caught, not yielding, but giving herself. Why shatter the divine, unconscious moment? It was his surprise that released her; his instinct caught at her to keep her, but caught only her dress. The weak stuff tore in his hand. The work-box on the edge of the table overturned. A shower of little objects fell, ringing and scattering on the floor. She slid through his fingers. Her skirt whipped around the door. He trod on needles in the dark, and, cursing, felt some dreadful, soft little thing, which was a pin-cushion, beneath his feet.

The sound of the door behind him closing made