There were times when his desire for Blossom's
beauty appeared to fill the desolate space, and he hungered and thirsted
for her actual presence at his side. In the excitement of a great
city, he would probably have forgotten her in a month after their first
meeting. Here, in this monotonous country, there was nothing for him
but to brood over each trivial detail until her figure stood out in his
imagination edged by the artificial light he had created around it.
Her beauty, which would have been noticeable even in a crowd, became
goddess-like against the low horizon in the midst of the November
colours.
"If you only knew how I suffer from you, darling," he said, "I haven't
slept for nights because you refused to kiss me."
"I--I haven't slept either," she faltered.
"Because of me, Blossom?"
"I begin to think and it makes me so unhappy."
"Oh, damn it! Do you love me, Blossom?"
"What difference does it make whether I do or not?"
"It makes all the difference under Heaven! Would you like to love me,
Blossom?"
"I oughtn't to let myself think of it, and I don't when I can help it."
"But can you help it? Tell me, can you help it?"
Turning away from him, she cast a startled glance under the willows in
the direction of the house.
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