Meanwhile reillumination as to the terrible and total change that her
confession had wrought in his life, in his universe, returned to him,
and he tried desperately to advance among the new conditions in which
he stood. Some consequent action was necessary; yet what?
"Tess," he said, as gently as he could speak, "I cannot stay--in this
room--just now. I will walk out a little way."
He quietly left the room, and the two glasses of wine that he had
poured out for their supper--one for her, one for him--remained on
the table untasted. This was what their _agape_ had come to. At
tea, two or three hours earlier, they had, in the freakishness of
affection, drunk from one cup.
The closing of the door behind him, gently as it had been pulled
to, roused Tess from her stupor. He was gone; she could not stay.
Hastily flinging her cloak around her she opened the door and
followed, putting out the candles as if she were never coming back.
The rain was over and the night was now clear.
She was soon close at his heels, for Clare walked slowly and without
purpose. His form beside her light gray figure looked black,
sinister, and forbidding, and she felt as sarcasm the touch of the
jewels of which she had been momentarily so proud.
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