Then driven
by a rush of anger against Blossom because she was to blame for it
all--because he had ever seen her, because he had ever desired her,
because he had ever committed the supreme folly of marrying her, and,
most of all, because she had, in her indiscretion, betrayed him to
Molly--he added with the cruelty which is possible sometimes to generous
and kindly natures--"It was a mistake, of course. I am ready to do
anything in my power for her happiness, but it wouldn't be for her
happiness for us to start living together."
Blossom raised her face from Molly's bosom, and the strong sunlight
shining through the coloured leaves, showed the blanched look of her
skin and the fine lines chiselled by tears around her eyes. Encircling
her mouth, which Gay had once described as looking "as though it
would melt if you kissed it," there was now a heavy blue shadow which
detracted from the beauty of her still red and voluptuous lips. In many
ways she was finer, larger, nobler than when he had first met her--for
experience, which had blighted her physical loveliness, appeared, also,
to have increased the dignity and quietness of her soul.
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