And then the erectness of his supple body, like a
symbol. The very way he stood, so quiet, so insidious, like an erect,
supple symbol of life, the living body, confronting her downcast soul,
was torture to her. He was like a supple living idol moving before her
eyes, and she felt if she watched him she was damned.
And he came and made himself at home in her little home. When he was
there, moving in his own quiet way, she felt as if the whole great law of
sacrifice, by which she had elected to live, were annulled. He annulled
by his very presence the laws of her life. And what did he substitute?
Ah, against that question she hardened herself in recoil.
It was awful to her to have to have him about--moving about in his
shirt-sleeves, speaking in his tenor, throaty voice to the children.
Annabel simply adored him, and he teased the little girl. The baby,
Barbara, was not sure of him. She had been born a stranger to him. But
even the nurse, when she saw his white shoulder of flesh through the
slits of his torn shirt, thought it a shame.
Winifred felt it was only another weapon of his against her.
'You have other shirts--why do you wear that old one that is all torn,
Egbert?' she said.
'I may as well wear it out,' he said subtly.
He knew she would not offer to mend it for him. She _could_ not. And no,
she would not. Had she not her own gods to honour? And could she betray
them, submitting to his Baal and Ashtaroth? And it was terrible to her,
his unsheathed presence, that seemed to annul her and her faith, like
another revelation.
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