Toward dawn she stirred, and, slipping stiffly from his
position, he moved her so that her back, which was still wet,
faced the fire. He built up the fire again, and sat brooding
beside her, dozing and starting awake, till morning. Then his
head bobbed, and he was dimly awake again, to find her sitting
up straight, looking at him in amazement.
"It simply can't be, that's all.... Did you curl me up? I'm
nice and dry all over now. It was very good of you. You've
been a most commendable person.... But I think we'll take a
train for the rest of our pilgrimage. It hasn't been entirely
successful, I'm afraid."
"Perhaps we'd better."
For a moment he hated her, with her smooth politeness, after a
night when she had been unbearable and human by turns. He hated
her bedraggled hair and tired face. Then he could have wept, so
deeply did he desire to pull her head down on his shoulder and
smooth the wrinkles of weariness out of her dear face, the
dearer because they had endured the weariness together.
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