The clasp of Ruth’s arms about his neck, the warm touch of her plump figure, the pressure of her lips on his, and the passionate1 murmur2 of the low contralto voice in his ears, “My own dear love!” thrilled him with tenderest memories.
He sat by Kate’s side brooding over the days and nights of their married life. Baffled and puzzled, his mind would come back with everlasting3 persistence4 to the strange feeling that held him to Ruth—a subtle and sweet mystery, the most intimate relation the soul and body can ever bear on earth, the union in love in the morning of life and its tender blossoming into a living babe.
He began to ask himself had not their being mingled5 somehow in essence? Had they not been really united by that vital process which sometimes makes married people grow to look alike, and often to die on the same day?
Intimately he knew this little woman, to her deepest soul secrets, and yet she had still eluded6 him, and now revealed subtle spiritual and physical charms he had never seen nor felt before.
He was conscious at the same time of a new feeling of repulsion on Kate’s part, and the thought filled him with nervous foreboding. Whatever change her disillusion7 had brought, his own physical infatuation for her was, if possible, deeper and more unreasonable8.
She could not make him quarrel, but he would sit doggedly9 gloating over her beauty, his gray eyes flashing and gleaming with the fever for possession that is the soul of murder.
He was not long left in doubt as to the turn her thoughts had taken from the crisis through which she had passed. Her drawing-room was crowded. These receptions were protracted10 until long past midnight, and he had never seen her so gay or reckless in manner.
She dressed with a splendour never affected11 before, and received the attentions of Overman with a favour so marked it could not escape the eye of the most casual observer. She made not the slightest effort to conceal12 it, and her manner was so plain a challenge to Gordon he was stunned13 by its audacity14.
Overman felt this challenge in her mood, and, alarmed, withdrew from the scene. He did not return to the house during the week, and on Saturday he received a dainty perfumed note from her by messenger. It was the first missive he had ever received from a woman.
He turned it over in his broad hand, touched it nervously15, and opened it with his fingers trembling as he recognised her handwriting.
“My Dear Mr. Overman: I have been sorely disappointed in not seeing you again this week. I write to command your presence Sunday morning at ten o’clock to accompany me to the Temple, if I choose to go, and to dine with me. Sincerely, KATE RANSOM16 GORDON.”
He wrote an answer accepting and then sat holding this note in his hand as though it were something alive. For an hour he paced back and forth17 in his office alone, screening his eye behind his bushy brows, wrinkling his forehead, twisting his mouth, and now and then thrusting his hand into his collar and tugging18 at it, as though he were choking.
Gordon’s new study was in the dome19 of the Temple commanding a wonderful view of the great city, its rivers and bays, and the long dim line of the open sea beyond the towers of Coney Island. It was his habit to take an early breakfast on Sunday mornings and spend the three hours before his services there.
When Overman reached the house at ten o’clock, clouds had obscured the sun, The air was wet and penetrating20, and charged with the premonition of storm. He felt nervous, excited and irritable21.
The maid showed him into the spacious22 library, where a cheerful fire of red-hot coals glowed, and his spirits rose.
He stood before the fire without removing his top coat, and the maid said:
“Mrs. Gordon says to make yourself comfortable. The day is so raw she will not go out. She will be down in a moment.”
He removed his coat, sank into an easy chair, and began to wonder what could be the meaning of that note. He knew intuitively that he was approaching a crisis in his life.
He felt a sense of anxiety and discomfort23 at the idea of spending the morning alone with his friend’s wife. Yet he told himself he had no choice—it was fate. A woman had arranged it.
When Kate entered the room, he sprang to his feet with a cry of amazement24 at the vision of radiant beauty sweeping25 with sinuous26 step to meet him. He had never seen her so conscious of power or with better reason for it.
She was dressed in a gown of pink-and-white filmy stuff, which clung to her form, revealing its beautiful lines from the rounded shoulders to the tips of her dainty slippers27. The sleeves were open to the elbow, showing the magnificent bare arms. From the shoulders, soft diaphanous28 draperies hung straight down the length of her figure, revealing by contrast more sharply the graceful29 curves of the body. The throat was bare, and her smooth ivory neck glowed in round fulness against the background of her hair falling in waves of fiery30 splendour.
Around her shapely waist hung a double cord of silver, knotted low in front and drawn31 below the knee by heavy tassels32.
The effect of the dress was simplicity33 itself. There was not a superfluous34 ruffle35 or ribbon. Its sole design was not to attract attention to itself, but to reveal the superb charms of the woman who wore it, with every breath she breathed, every step, and every gesture.
The rhythmic36 music of her walk—quick, strong, luxurious—breathed an excess of vitality37. The full lips were smiling and her cheeks aflame with pleasure at his admiration38.
Her eyes spoke39 straight into his with a candour that was unmistakable. They knew what they desired and said so aloud. They had thrown scruples40 to the winds, and in untamed, primeval strength gazed on life with daring freedom.
Overman stammered41 and cleared his throat, bowed, and blushed.
She took both his hands cordially and smiled into his face.
“Why didn’t you come back to see me this week?”
He hesitated, disconcerted.
“I know,” she went on rapidly, leading him to a lounge by the fire.
“You saw the jealousy42 in Frank’s big baby face and you stayed away—now, honestly!”
He pulled nervously at his moustache and his eye twinkled.
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Well, I’m not a child and you are not. We are both full grown. I am thirty-one years old. I am not Frank Gordon’s slave, nor his property. I am a free woman by his own words. And I am going to be free.”
Overman glanced at the door.
“Oh! You needn’t try to run,” she laughed. “I’ve got you to-day. You can’t get away, and I’m going to tell you something. Can you guess what it is?”
The banker began to tremble.
Kate paused, leaned back in the easy chair she had drawn close in front of him, placed both of her dazzling arms behind her head, burying them in the mass of auburn hair, a picture of lazy tenderness and dreamy languor43.
“Can’t you guess?” she repeated.
“I’m not so bold as to dare,” he answered, gravely.
“I will dare,” she said, eagerly leaning forward and bending so close he caught the perfume of her hair.
The blood rushed in surging tumult44 to his face.
“When I found myself caught in that wreck,” she began in slow, mellow45 tones, “it flashed over me that I had been leading a sham46 life. I, who profess47 freedom, had been living a slave to form. One desire, the most intense, the most passionate, the most wilful48 I had ever known was ungratified. Do you know the one thing I asked when the past and present and future flashed before me in a moment?”
She paused, caught her breath, and gave him a look of passionate intensity49.
“I only asked for one hour face to face with a great masterful man I know, that I might say the unsaid things, dare, and live the utmost reach of my heart’s desire.”
Her voice wavered and hesitated. Then, with calm, laughing audacity, she said in sweet, sensuous50 tones:
“I love you, and you love me—loved me from the first moment you looked into my eyes! Is it not so?”
Overman rose awkwardly, pale as death, his great breast heaving with emotion, and looked again helplessly toward the door.
Kate leaped forward with a laugh, seized his hand, and felt it tremble in her grasp.
“Is it not so?” she repeated, beneath her breath.
He looked down into her shining eyes, sighed, and suddenly swept her to his heart. Her arms circled his massive neck and their lips met.
“Kiss me again,” she whispered. “Again! Crush me—kill me if you like! I could die in your arms! Tell me that you love me!”
“I’ve loved you always,” he said slowly. “But why did you do this thing? Frank is my best friend. I would have died sooner than betray him.”
“Yes, I know,” she cried, impetuously; “that’s why I told you. I have no scruples. I am free. It is our compact. I’m done with his maudlin51 sentiment. I have chosen you. You are my master, my king. I am yours.”
“Tragedy to me as it is,” he said, with a smile, “it seems too sweet and wonderful to be true, that the most beautiful woman on this earth should love a gnarled brute52 like me. How is it possible?”
She smoothed his rugged53 face with her soft hand, drew his head down and kissed tenderly the sightless eye that had caused him so many bitter hours of anguish54 in life.
The strong man’s body for the first time shook with sobs55. And the woman soothed56 him as a child.
“You are my soul’s mate,” she cried, in a transport of tenderness. “Frank Gordon is no longer my husband. You are my beloved, my chosen one. I will never recognise him again. We will separate from this hour. I am yours and you are mine.”
Overman took her hand and, still trembling, said:
“Do you know what that means?”
“Yes,” she answered, eagerly. “I know you will be my lord and master, and I desire it. I am sick of sentimentalism.”
“It means exactly that,” he said, with emphasis. “Out of this bog57 of fool’s dreams I will lift you forever, my own, the one priceless treasure around which I will draw the circle of life and death.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she cried, in a glow of ecstatic feeling. “I desire it so. I wish you to be my master. Your service will be sweet; your savage58 strength will be my joy.”
And while they sat planning their future life, Gordon’s footstep echoed in the hall.
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收听单词发音
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1
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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disillusion
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| vt.使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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39
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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40
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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43
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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44
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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45
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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46
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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47
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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48
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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49
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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50
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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51
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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52
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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53
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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54
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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55
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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56
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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57
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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58
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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