For her alone he existed
now. Soon the rest who had wondered and praised and blamed and gossipped
forgot about him; they had no more attention to give him, no more
flattery, no more allegiance. For them he had ceased to exist. Only for
her he went on existing still, nay, it seemed that it was through her
that he clung to the life he had loved, and was even now not dead because
he lived in and through her. And sometimes--she shivered in her broken
sleep, for she had not the love which would have made the dream all
joy--he became more than a spirit or an impalpable presence; he was again
almost corporeal, almost to be felt and touched, almost a living man.
Shrinking and fearing, yet she was glad; she welcomed his exemption from
the grave and abetted him in his rebellion against death; and for her
that restless spirit almost clothed itself again in flesh.
She sat up with a great start and a low cry. Her hand had been hanging
over the arm of the chair, it had grown cold; now it was held in another
cold hand, and it was raised. Awake but thinking she still dreamed, she
waited in mingled fear and anticipation.
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