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gossamer blown across her eyes; there was a dread for her。
She was afraid when he came home at night。 As yet; her fear
never spoke; the shadow never rushed upon her。 He was gentle;
humble; he kept himself withheld。 His hands were delicate upon
her; and she loved them。 But there ran through her the thrill;
crisp as pain; for she felt the darkness and other…world still
in his soft; sheathed hands。
But the summer drifted in with the silence of a miracle; she
was almost always alone。 All the while; went on the long; lovely
drowsiness; the maidenblush roses in the garden were all shed;
washed away in a pouring rain; summer drifted into autumn; and
the long; vague; golden days began to close。 Crimson clouds
fumed about the west; and as night came on; all the sky was
fuming and steaming; and the moon; far above the swiftness of
vapours; was white; bleared; the night was uneasy。 Suddenly the
moon would appear at a clear window in the sky; looking down
from far above; like a captive。 And Anna did not sleep。 There
was a strange; dark tension about her husband。
She became aware that he was trying to force his will upon
her; something; there was something he wanted; as he lay there
dark and tense。 And her soul sighed in weariness。
Everything was so vague and lovely; and he wanted to wake her
up to the hard; hostile reality。 She drew back in resistance。
Still he said nothing。 But she felt his power persisting on her;
till she became aware of the strain; she cried out against the
exhaustion。 He was forcing her; he was forcing her。 And she
wanted so much the joy and the vagueness and the innocence of
her pregnancy。 She did not want his bitter…corrosive love; she
did not want it poured into her; to burn her。 Why must she have
it? Why; oh; why was he not content; contained?
She sat many hours by the window; in those days when he drove
her most with the black constraint of his will; and she watched
the rain falling on the yew trees。 She was not sad; only
wistful; blanched。 The child under her heart was a perpetual
warmth。 And she was sure。 The pressure was only upon her from
the outside; her soul had no stripes。
Yet in her heart itself was always this same strain; tense;
anxious。 She was not safe; she was always exposed; she was
always attacked。 There was a yearning in her for a fulness of
peace and blessedness。 What a heavy yearning it was……so
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