“Who is it?” she asked.
He did not answer. But she did not wish him to answer. She had spoken without meaning to speak.
“You watch this figure. It comes to you, walking heavily.”
“Walking heavily?”
“That’s what he says. The dates shrivel on the palms, the streams dry up, the flowers droop and die in the sand. In the city the tomtoms faint away and the red fires fade away. All is dark and silent. And then he sees—”
“Wait!” Domini said almost sharply.
He sat looking at her. She pressed her hands together. In her dark face, with its heavy eyebrows and strong, generous mouth, a contest showed, a struggle between some quick desire and some more sluggish but determined reluctance. In a moment she spoke again.
“I won’t hear anything more, please.”
“But you said ‘whatever it may be.’”
“Yes. But I won’t hear anything more.”