Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 8, 2025
The Beatrice of his story too had a father and no other relation, and was supposed to be travelling with him. By the uncertain light in the corridor Unorna had not been able to distinguish the lady's features, but the impression she had received had been that she was dark, as Beatrice was. There was no reason in the nature of things why this should not be the woman whom the Wanderer loved.
"The best thing you can do is to put him to sleep at once," said the little man. "You can be angry afterwards, and, I thank heaven, so can I and shall." "Forget," said Unorna, once more laying her hand upon the waxen brow. "Let it be as though I had not spoken with you. Drink, in your sleep, of the fountain of life, take new strength into your body and new blood into your heart.
"Perhaps," answered Unorna calmly, though there was still a dangerous light in her eyes. "No. It is no reason," answered the Wanderer with a decision to which Unorna was not accustomed. "Keyork tells me that the man is mad. He may be. But he loves you and deserves mercy of you." "Mercy!" exclaimed Unorna with a cruel laugh. "You heard what he said you were for silencing him yourself.
If that is the world I am not afraid of its judgments in the very improbable case of my falling in love with you." Unorna shook her head. There was a momentary relief in discussing the consequences of a love not yet born in him. "That would not be all," she said. "You have a country, you have a home, you have obligations you have all those things which I have not."
For I know there has not been that and I should have known it anywhere in all these years, the chill of it would have found me, the sharpness of it would have been in my heart no matter where, no matter how far yet say it, say it once say that you have loved me, too " "God knows how I have loved you how I love you now!" Unorna said in a low, unsteady voice.
He wondered whether it was his duty to do or say more. Unorna was a changeable woman. She might love the man to-morrow. But Israel Kafka was too young to let the conversation drop. Boy-like he expected confidence for confidence, and was surprised at his companion's taciturnity. "What did she say to me when I was asleep?" he asked, after a short pause.
"Enthusiastic, passionate, brave." "Have I so many good qualities?" "I am always telling you so." "Does it give you pleasure to tell me what you think of me?" "Does it pain you to hear it?" asked the Wanderer, somewhat surprised at the uncertainty of her temper, and involuntarily curious as to the cause of the disturbance. "Sometimes it does," Unorna answered.
It could not be expected, indeed, that in a city like Prague such a woman as Unorna could escape notice, and the fact that little or nothing was known of her true history had left a very wide field for the imaginations of those who chose to invent one for her.
"I know nothing of myself," she continued. "I remember neither father nor mother. I grew up in the forest, among people who did not love me, but who taught me, and respected me as though I were their superior, and who sometimes feared me. When I look back, I am amazed at their learning and their wisdom and ashamed of having learned so little." "You are unjust to yourself." Unorna laughed.
For the man was caught as in a trap and must stay there until he was released, and there would be little doubt from his manner, when taken, that he was either mad or consciously attempting some crime. There was no longer any necessity, he thought, for Unorna to take refuge anywhere for more than an hour.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking