September had passed. The sorrowing wife took scarcely any
nourishment, and could no longer sleep.
She remained at home now, crouching low with her hands between her
knees, her head thrown back and resting against the wall behind. What
was the good of getting up or going to bed now? When she was
thoroughly exhausted she threw herself, dressed, upon her bed.
Otherwise she remained in the same position, chilled and benumbed; in
her quiescent state, only her teeth chattered with the cold; she had
that continual impression of a band of iron round her brows; her cheeks
looked wasted; her mouth was dry, with a feverish taste, and at times a
painful hoarse cry rose from her throat and was repeated in spasms,
whilst her head beat backwards against the granite wall. Or else she
called Yann by his name in a low, tender voice, as if he were quite
close to her; whispering words of love to her.
Sometimes she occupied her brain with thoughts of quite insignificant
things; for instance, she amused herself by watching the shadow of the
china Virgin lengthen slowly over the high woodwork of the bed, as the
sun went down. And then the agonized thoughts returned more horribly;
and her wailing cry broke out again as she beat her head against the
wall.
Pages:
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369