[Labrea-users] to her. I wis

[Pushcar <bib...@ds...>]

Ad been an unpeopled desert, free to his stride. He had fixed his eyes
above and beyond and walked alone in pain. Dawn found him again in his
room. What hope had sustained him, what memory of Joan, what purpose of
tenderness toward her--these hopes and memories and purposes now choked
and twisted him. He might have found her, his "gel," his Joan, with her
dumb, loving gaze; he might have told her the story of his sorrow in
such a way that she, who forgave so easily, would have forgiven even
him, and he might have comforted her, holding her so and so, showing her
utterly the true, unchanged, greatly changed love of his chastened
heart. This girl, this love of his, whom, in his drunken, jealous
madness, he had branded and driven away, he would have brought her back
and tended her and made it up to her in a thousand, in ten thousand,
ways. Pierre knelt by his bed, his black head buried in the cover, his
arms bent above