ODOUR OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS

her mind, cold and detached, said clearly : " Who
am I ? What have I been doing ? I have been
fighting a husband who did not exist. He existed
all the time. What wrong have I done ? What was
that I have been living with ? There lies the reality,
this man." -- And her soul died in her for fear :
she knew she had never seen him, he had never seen
her, they had met in the dark and had fought in the
dark, not knowing whom they met nor whom they
fought. And now she saw, and turned silent in
seeing. For she had been wrong. She had said he
was something he was not; she had felt familiar
with him. Whereas he was apart all the while,
living as she never lived, feeling as she never felt.
In fear and shame she looked at his naked body,
that she had known falsely. And he was the father
of her children. Her soul was torn from her body
and stood apart. She looked at his naked body and
was ashamed, as if she had denied it. After all, it
was itself. It seemed awful to her. She looked at
his face, and she turned her own face to the wall.
For his look was other than hers, his way was not
her way. She had denied him what he was -- she
saw it now. She had refused him as himself. -- And
this had been her life, and his life. -- She was grateful
to death, which restored the truth. And she knew
she was not dead.

And all the while her heart was bursting with
grief and pity for him. What had he suffered ?
What stretch of horror for this helpless man ! She
was rigid with agony. She had not been able to
help him. He had been cruelly injured, this naked
man, this other being, and she could make no