DOI article:
Watson, H. B. Marriott: The house of shame
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21805#0081
By H. B. Marriott Watson 77
known and loved appalled him. His jaw feil open, his nails
scored into his palms, his eyes bulged beneath his brows. The
face rested, white and withered, among the frillings of her gown ;
unaccustomed lines picked out the cheeks ; the mouth was
drawn pitifully small and pinched with suffering. Even as he
looked she seemed to his scared gaze to shrink and shrivel under
pain. This was not the repose of sleep, releasing from the
bürden of sickness ; surely he could see her face and body pricked
over with Starts and pangs under his eyes. It seemed to his
morbid thoughts that he could read upon her moving features
the horrible story of that slow disintegration ; in his very sight
the flesh appeared to take on the changing colours of decay. He
withdrew aghast from the proximity ; he blanched and was wrung
with panic. In what place within that breathing human fabric
was death starting upon his dreadful round ? She respired gently,
the heart beat softly, the tissues, yet instinct with life, were re-
builded piece by piece. Wherein lay the secret of that fading life ?
The counterpane stirred faintly, and drew his attention. His
wandering glance went down the length of that swathed body.
'Ehe limbs still beat warm with blood, and yet to-morrow they
must Stretch out in stiff obedience to stränge hands. The fancy
was horrible—a cry burst from him and rang in the still and
changeless chamber. The sound terrified him anew, breaking thus
rudely upon the silence. He feared that she would awake, and
he trembled at the prospect of her speechless eyes. And yet he
had withal a passionate desire to resolve her from this deathly calm,
and to see her once more regarding him with love. She hung
still upon the verge of that great darkness, and one short call
would bring her sharply back. He had but to bend to her ears
and whisper loudly, and that hovering spirit would return. He
stood, a coward, by the bed.
And
known and loved appalled him. His jaw feil open, his nails
scored into his palms, his eyes bulged beneath his brows. The
face rested, white and withered, among the frillings of her gown ;
unaccustomed lines picked out the cheeks ; the mouth was
drawn pitifully small and pinched with suffering. Even as he
looked she seemed to his scared gaze to shrink and shrivel under
pain. This was not the repose of sleep, releasing from the
bürden of sickness ; surely he could see her face and body pricked
over with Starts and pangs under his eyes. It seemed to his
morbid thoughts that he could read upon her moving features
the horrible story of that slow disintegration ; in his very sight
the flesh appeared to take on the changing colours of decay. He
withdrew aghast from the proximity ; he blanched and was wrung
with panic. In what place within that breathing human fabric
was death starting upon his dreadful round ? She respired gently,
the heart beat softly, the tissues, yet instinct with life, were re-
builded piece by piece. Wherein lay the secret of that fading life ?
The counterpane stirred faintly, and drew his attention. His
wandering glance went down the length of that swathed body.
'Ehe limbs still beat warm with blood, and yet to-morrow they
must Stretch out in stiff obedience to stränge hands. The fancy
was horrible—a cry burst from him and rang in the still and
changeless chamber. The sound terrified him anew, breaking thus
rudely upon the silence. He feared that she would awake, and
he trembled at the prospect of her speechless eyes. And yet he
had withal a passionate desire to resolve her from this deathly calm,
and to see her once more regarding him with love. She hung
still upon the verge of that great darkness, and one short call
would bring her sharply back. He had but to bend to her ears
and whisper loudly, and that hovering spirit would return. He
stood, a coward, by the bed.
And