My husband was impatient of our simple island customs. Once or twice he
lowered the window of the car, threw out a handful of silver and at the
same time urged the chauffeur to drive quicker. As soon as we were clear
of the village he fell back in his seat, saying:
"Heavens, how sleepy I am! No wonder either! Late going to bed last
night and up so early this morning."
After a moment he began to yawn, and almost before he could have been
aware of it he had closed his eyes. At the next moment he was asleep.
It was a painful, almost a hideous sleep. His cheeks swelled and sank;
his lips parted, he was breathing heavily, and sometimes gaping like a
carp out of water.
I could not detach my eyes from his face, which, without eyes to relieve
it, seemed to be almost repulsive now. It would be difficult to describe
my sensations. I felt dreadfully humiliated. Even my personal pride was
wounded. I remembered what Father Dan had said about husband and wife
being one flesh, and told myself that _this_ was what I belonged to,
what belonged to me--_this!_ Then I tried to reproach and reprove
myself, but in order to do so I had to turn my eyes away.
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