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Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset), 1874-1965

"Of Human Bondage"

She came in, and he got up to meet her. She was in black,
with white cuffs at her wrists and a lawn collar round her neck. They
shook hands.
"Have you been waiting long?"
"No. Ten minutes. Are you hungry?"
"Not very."
"Let's sit here for a bit, shall we?"
"If you like."
They sat quietly, side by side, without speaking. Philip enjoyed having
her near him. He was warmed by her radiant health. A glow of life seemed
like an aureole to shine about her.
"Well, how have you been?" he said at last, with a little smile.
"Oh, it's all right. It was a false alarm."
"Was it?"
"Aren't you glad?"
An extraordinary sensation filled him. He had felt certain that Sally's
suspicion was well-founded; it had never occurred to him for an instant
that there was a possibility of error. All his plans were suddenly
overthrown, and the existence, so elaborately pictured, was no more than
a dream which would never be realised. He was free once more. Free! He
need give up none of his projects, and life still was in his hands for him
to do what he liked with. He felt no exhilaration, but only dismay. His
heart sank. The future stretched out before him in desolate emptiness. It
was as though he had sailed for many years over a great waste of waters,
with peril and privation, and at last had come upon a fair haven, but as
he was about to enter, some contrary wind had arisen and drove him out
again into the open sea; and because he had let his mind dwell on these
soft meads and pleasant woods of the land, the vast deserts of the ocean
filled him with anguish.


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