‘Stephen—don’t!’
‘We’re both filled with the old peace of Morton, because we love each other so deeply—and because we’re perfect, a perfect thing, you and I—not two separate people but one. And our love has lit a great, comforting beacon, so that we need never be afraid of the dark any more—we can warm ourselves at our love, we can lie down together, and my arms will be round you—’
She broke off abruptly, and they stared at each other.
‘Do you know what you’re saying?’ Angela whispered.
And Stephen answered: ‘I know that I love you, and that nothing else matters in the world.’
Then, perhaps because of that glamorous evening, with its spirit of queer, unearthly adventure, with its urge to strange, unendurable sweetness, Angela moved a step nearer to Stephen, then another, until their hands were touching. And all that she was, and all that she had been and would be again, perhaps even to-morrow, was fused at that moment into one mighty impulse, one imperative need, and that need was Stephen. Stephen’s need was now hers, by sheer force of its blind and uncomprehending will to appeasement.
Then Stephen took Angela into her arms, and she kissed her full on the lips, as a lover.
CHAPTER 19
1
Through the long years of life that followed after, bringing with them their dreams and disillusions, their joys and sorrows, their fulfilments and frustrations, Stephen was never to forget this summer when she fell quite simply and naturally in love, in accordance with the dictates of her nature.