But these gentle, Christian sentiments were too easily dismissed. He
had acted abominably, her harder self retorted, and fully deserved the
scorn that she had shown him.
And perhaps this was the problem---trying to make herself think more
fondly of him through the mind. Because gratitude and compassion are
not lasting in love, while instinct and self-fulfillment never fade. If
she could simply have admitted to herself that she missed the security
and intimacy of lying in his arms, and that the crowning pleasure of her
new-found happiness would have been to open herself to him, both body
and spirit, she could have put aside the hopeless tangle of her emotions
and simply gone to him, and taken him to her, and renewed again the bond
of true lovers. As it was she could only toss restlessly, then get up
and pace in frustration.
At length she had decided to go to him (or merely allowed the greater
part of herself to act), telling herself that she should at least say
goodnight, and give him the chance to make it up to her. But as she
passed through the hallway and began to enter the dimly lit compound,
she saw a male figure hunched at the table, and another, female form
behind, touching him. Thinking it one of the other couples, she drew
back into the shadows of the doorframe.
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