The Cumbrian Trilogy [antikvár]

As he woke, the word 'wife' raced up from the fathoms of his dream and broke the surface of his mind as gently as the moonlight met his eyes. And the word basked under the light, rubbed itself against his unnerved flesh, tumbled slowly about the lapping waves of sense before plunging once more down, taking its news back to the dying dream. In marriage he had found Iif€^ taken it and given it They slept naked, feeling bold. She had drawn the curtains so that they could see each other's todies. In the deep flock bed, breath, warmth and memory intermingled - but he did not turn ic her, had promised not to wake her. Just his hand settling on her belly: no sign when she lay like tiiat: at what exact moment had she conceived their child ? When the church clock struck two, he got out of the bed, his feet cold on the bare boards before the heavy strokes had died away. Framed in the window he looked out and h^tated, turned to look at her partly uncovered by his exit. Her white face sank into a spread net of thick hair, drawn downwards, it seemed, innocent of the charge of life. In his desire was inexplicable pity. For the breasts, docile, lying softly together as she turned on her side: the fingers reaching out to where he had been with fragile disappointment. Why had he to leave her? Even for a few hours. What more could there be than those thighs which parted sleepily, that waking glance which told him all there was to know, the end of desire in the beginning of their love? Dawn had not yet come but his way was clear. A child's moon was settled largely and gracefully in the sky and thin II