“Ah, no,” she said, “you must not say that. You don’t understand.... Even that would mean misery for you—and I—I could not bear. Don’t you see? Even now, before you have done your allotted part, I am wanting—oh, wanting—to let you go.... But I must not; I must not. You must go on ... and bear it for a little while more—and then....”
There was a tension somewhere, a string somewhere that was stretched tight and vibrating. I was tremulous with an excitement that overmastered my powers of speech, that surpassed my understanding.
“Don’t you see ...” she asked again, “you are the past—the passing. We could never meet. You are ... for me ... only the portrait of a man—of a man who has been dead—oh, a long time; and I, for you, only a possibility ... a conception.... You work to bring me on—to make me possible.”
“But—” I said. The idea was so difficult to grasp. “I will—there must be a way—”
“No,” she answered, “there is no way—you must go back; must try. There will be Churchill and what he stands for—He won’t die, he won’t even care much for losing this game ... not much.... And you will have to forget me. There is no other way—no bridge. We can’t meet, you and I....”
The words goaded me to fury. I began to pace furiously up and down. I wanted to tell her that I would throw away everything for her, would crush myself out, would be a lifeless tool, would do anything. But I could tear no words out of the stone that seemed to surround me.
“You may even tell him, if you like, what I and Gurnard are going to do. It will make no difference; he will fall. But you would like him to—to make a good fight for it, wouldn’t you? That is all I can do ... for your sake.”
I began to speak—as if I had not spoken for years. The house seemed to be coming to life; there were noises of opening doors, of voices outside.
“I believe you care enough,” I said “to give it all up for me. I believe you do, and I want you.” I continued to pace up and down. The noises of returning day grew loud; frightfully loud. It was as if I must hasten, must get said what I had to say, as if I must raise my voice to make it heard amid the clamour of a world awakening to life.
“I believe you do ... I believe you do....” I said again and again, “and I want you.” My voice rose higher and higher. She stood motionless, an inscrutable white figure, like some silent Greek statue, a harmony of falling folds of heavy drapery perfectly motionless.