She started, shaken by a revulsion. The liquid blue of her eyes turned sharp and aggressive, her lips narrowed; she held her little bag close like booty. Then she departed, leaving the door open for the smoky darkness of the landing to creep into my rooms. She had the untamable, sullen expression of a hunted beast.
VIII
Twenty days passed without news.
When I woke up, the early sunlight had a reassuring effect, the morning chattered familiarly, my terror of the night before took wings like a fancy. Hope swelled within me.
The postman's ring, sharp, strident, unbearable, reopened the wound. I rushed to the door. Nothing. A circular, an ordinary letter which I didn't have the will to open.
It was exactly twenty-two days. I forced myself to sit down at the table, but my courage was completely gone, and the alarms of the night which haunted the room gripped me by the throat. Well, there would be something to-morrow. It was impossible....
Anxiety, from the moment it began, made me neglect myself—no prinking, no housework, dust powdering my furniture. The most I did was to turn back my bedclothes. What did all these things matter? I wanted to sleep, sleep....
Coming back from work I slipped into my flannel dressing gown and slippers and let down my hair. I did not even take the time to warm up my dinner prepared beforehand in the morning. The plate was on the table, an orange, a piece of bread.... I'd eat.
I couldn't. The mouthfuls choked me. I couldn't do one thing. I was overwhelmed, almost paralyzed, by an unconquerable weakness. I threw myself in my armchair. I would put the room in order the next day. I would work twice as hard, but not to-night....