“Perfectly well—absolutely well.” And she began to nod and smile. 

 “Then let us come home. There’s no point in our stopping.” 

 He held out his hand to pull her up. She pretended not to see it. The cries from the fountain—they had never ceased—rang emptily. The whole world seemed pale and void of its original meaning. 

 “How very kind you have been! I might have hurt myself falling. But now I am well. I can go alone, thank you.” 

 His hand was still extended. 

 “Oh, my photographs!” she exclaimed suddenly. 

 “What photographs?” 

 “I bought some photographs at Alinari’s. I must have dropped them out there in the square.” She looked at him cautiously. “Would you add to your kindness by fetching them?” 

 He added to his kindness. As soon as he had turned his back, Lucy arose with the running of a maniac and stole down the arcade towards the Arno. 

 “Miss Honeychurch!” 

 She stopped with her hand on her heart. 

 “You sit still; you aren’t fit to go home alone.” 

 “Yes, I am, thank you so very much.” 

 “No, you aren’t. You’d go openly if you were.” 

 “But I had rather—” 

 “Then I don’t fetch your photographs.” 

 “I had rather be alone.” 

 He said imperiously: “The man is dead—the man is probably dead; sit down till you are rested.” She was bewildered, and obeyed him. “And don’t move till I come back.” 

 In the distance she saw creatures with black hoods, such as appear in dreams. The palace tower had lost the reflection of the declining day, and joined itself to earth. How should she talk to Mr. Emerson when he returned from the shadowy square? Again the thought occurred to her, “Oh, what have I done?”—the thought 

 Prev. P 34/177 next