Hence the colours of her solitary passion had
somewhat faded, becoming clouded and dim. Recent events--led by the ugly
publicity of Reginald Sawyer's sermon--served to revive those colours.
To-day they glowed rich and splendid, a robing of sombre glory to her
inward and backward searching sight.
The bell tolled quicker, announcing the immediate approach of the dead.
Lesbia listened, her head raised, her face, turned to open window, felt
over by the clammy, impalpable fingers of the fog.
Now they bore the coffin up the churchyard path, as she timed it. She
wondered who the bearers might be, and whether they carried it shoulder
high? The path was steep; and Charles Verity, though spare and lean,
broad of chest and notably tall. Bone tells. They would feel the weight,
would breathe hard, stagger a little even and sweat.
And with this visualizing of grim particulars, love, bodily love and
desire of that which rested stark and for ever cold within the narrow
darkness of the coffin--shut away from all comfort of human contact and
the dear joys of a woman's embrace--rushed on her like a storm, buffeted
and shook her, so that she looked to right and to left as asking help,
while her hands worked one upon the other in the hollow of her lap.
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