Women, at least,
know instinctively the difference between the transient passion, no
matter how powerful, and the deathless bond.
Gisela glanced at her wrist watch. It was within seventy minutes of the
dawn. If she could only be sure that he would sleep until Munich herself
awoke him. But he had told her that he never slept these days more than
two or three hours at a time, no matter how weary.
If he awoke before it was time for her to leave the house and renewed
his love-making, her response would be as automatic as the progress of
life itself.
If she attempted to leave the house before sunrise, on no matter what
pretext, his suspicions would be aroused, for she had told him that she
had been given a week for rest. For the same reason she dared not awaken
him and ask him to go. He would refuse, for it was no time to slip out
of a woman's apartment; far better wait until ten o'clock, when there
were always visitors of both sexes in her office. Moreover, he would no
more wish to go than he would permit her to leave him.
She was utterly in his power if he awakened and chose to exert it. He
had mastered her, conquered her, routed her career and her peace, and
she had gloried in her submission; gloried in it still. A commonplace
woman would have been satisfied, satiated, felt free for the moment,
turned with relief to the dry convention of the daily adventure, rather
resenting, if she had a pretty will, the supreme surrender to the race
in an unguarded hour.
Pages:
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99