“I’m sure she has. She will do good things one day.”
“Ah! Then her life won’t be altogether wasted, you think?”
Gudrun was rather surprised.
“Sure it won’t!” she exclaimed softly.
“That’s right.”
Again Gudrun waited for what he would say.
“You find life pleasant, it is good to live, isn’t it?” he asked, with a pitiful faint smile that was almost too much for Gudrun.
“Yes,” she smiled—she would lie at random—“I get a pretty good time I believe.”
“That’s right. A happy nature is a great asset.”
Again Gudrun smiled, though her soul was dry with repulsion. Did one have to die like this—having the life extracted forcibly from one, whilst one smiled and made conversation to the end? Was there no other way? Must one go through all the horror of this victory over death, the triumph of the integral will, that would not be broken till it disappeared utterly? One must, it was the only way. She admired the self-possession and the control of the dying man exceedingly. But she loathed the death itself. She was glad the everyday world held good, and she need not recognise anything beyond.