edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
until some car comes along and lends us enough gas to get to Roaring
Abel’s with.”

“Well, what’s the matter with that?” said Valancy.

“We may have to sit here all night,” said Barney.

“I don’t mind,” said Valancy.

Barney gave a short laugh. “If you don’t, I needn’t. I haven’t any
reputation to lose.”

“Nor I,” said Valancy comfortably.




CHAPTER XXI


“We’ll just sit here,” said Barney, “and if we think of anything worth
while saying we’ll say it. Otherwise, not. Don’t imagine you’re bound
to talk to me.”

“John Foster says,” quoted Valancy, “‘If you can sit in silence with a
person for half an hour and yet be entirely comfortable, you and that
person can be friends. If you cannot, friends you’ll never be and you
need not waste time in trying.’”

“Evidently John Foster says a sensible thing once in a while,” conceded
Barney.

They sat in silence for a long while. Little rabbits hopped across the
road. Once or twice an owl laughed out delightfully. The road beyond
them was fringed with the woven shadow lace of trees. Away off to the
southwest the sky was full of silvery little cirrus clouds above the
spot where Barney’s island must be.

Valancy was perfectly happy. Some things dawn on you slowly. Some
things come by lightning flashes. Valancy had had a lightning flash.

She knew quite well now that she loved Barney. Yesterday she had been
all her own. Now she was this man’s. Yet he had done nothing—said
nothing. He had not even looked at her as a woman. But that didn’t
matter. Nor did it matter what he was or what he had done. She loved
him without any reservations. Everything in her went out wholly to him.
She had no wish to stifle or disown her love. She seemed to be his so
absolutely that thought apart from him—thought in which he did not
predominate—was an impossibility.

She had realised, quite simply and fully, that she loved him, in the
moment when he was leaning on the car door, explaining that Lady Jane
had no gas. She had looked deep into his eyes in the moonlight and had
known. In just that infinitesimal space of time everything was changed.
Old things passed away and all things became new.

She was no longer unimportant, little, old maid Valancy Stirling. She
was a woman, full of love and therefore rich and significant—justified
to herself. Life was no longer empty and futile, and death could cheat
her of nothing. Love had cast out her last fear.

Love! What a searing, torturing, intolerably sweet thing it was—this
possession of body, soul and mind! With something at its core as fine
and remote and purely spiritual as the tiny blue spark in the heart of
the unbreakable diamond. No dream had ever been like this. She was no
longer solitary. She was one of a vast sisterhood—all the women who had
ever loved in the world.

Barney need never know it—though she would not in the least have minded
his knowing. But _she_ knew it and it made a tremendous difference to
her. Just to love! She did not ask to be loved. It was rapture enough
just to sit there beside him in silence, alone in the summer night in
the white splendour of moonshine, with the wind blowing down on them
out of the pine woods. She had always envied the wind. So free. Blowing
where it listed. Through the hills. Over the lakes. What a tang, what a
zip it had! What a magic of adventure! Valancy felt as if she had
exchanged her shop-worn soul for a fresh one, fire-new from the
workshop of the gods. As far back as she could look, life had been
dull—colourless—savourless. Now she had come to a little patch of
violets, purple and fragrant—hers for the plucking. No matter who or
what had been in Barney’s past—no matter who or what might be in his
future—no one else could ever have this perfect hour. She surrendered
herself utterly to the charm of the moment.

“Ever dream of ballooning?” said Barney suddenly.

“No,” said Valancy.

“I do—often. Dream of sailing through the clouds—seeing the glories of
sunset—spending hours in the midst of a terrific storm with lightning
playing above and below you—skimming above a silver cloud floor under a
full moon—wonderful!”

“It does sound so,” said Valancy. “I’ve stayed on earth in my dreams.”

She told him about her Blue Castle. It was so easy to tell Barney
things. One felt he understood everything—even the things you didn’t
tell him. And then she told him a little of her existence before she
came to Roaring Abel’s. She wanted him to see why she had gone to the
dance “up back.”

until some car comes along and lends us enough gas to get to Roaring

Abel’s with.”

“Well, what’s the matter with that?” said Valancy.

“We may have to sit here all night,” said Barney.

“I don’t mind,” said Valancy.

Barney gave a short laugh. “If you don’t, I needn’t. I haven’t any

reputation to lose.”

“Nor I,” said Valancy comfortably.

CHAPTER XXI

“We’ll just sit here,” said Barney, “and if we think of anything worth

while saying we’ll say it. Otherwise, not. Don’t imagine you’re bound

to talk to me.”

“John Foster says,” quoted Valancy, “‘If you can sit in silence with a

person for half an hour and yet be entirely comfortable, you and that

person can be friends. If you cannot, friends you’ll never be and you

need not waste time in trying.’”

“Evidently John Foster says a sensible thing once in a while,” conceded

Barney.

They sat in silence for a long while. Little rabbits hopped across the

road. Once or twice an owl laughed out delightfully. The road beyond

them was fringed with the woven shadow lace of trees. Away off to the

southwest the sky was full of silvery little cirrus clouds above the

spot where Barney’s island must be.

Valancy was perfectly happy. Some things dawn on you slowly. Some

things come by lightning flashes. Valancy had had a lightning flash.

She knew quite well now that she loved Barney. Yesterday she had been

all her own. Now she was this man’s. Yet he had done nothing—said

nothing. He had not even looked at her as a woman. But that didn’t

matter. Nor did it matter what he was or what he had done. She loved

him without any reservations. Everything in her went out wholly to him.

She had no wish to stifle or disown her love. She seemed to be his so

absolutely that thought apart from him—thought in which he did not

predominate—was an impossibility.

She had realised, quite simply and fully, that she loved him, in the

moment when he was leaning on the car door, explaining that Lady Jane

had no gas. She had looked deep into his eyes in the moonlight and had

known. In just that infinitesimal space of time everything was changed.

Old things passed away and all things became new.

She was no longer unimportant, little, old maid Valancy Stirling. She

was a woman, full of love and therefore rich and significant—justified

to herself. Life was no longer empty and futile, and death could cheat

her of nothing. Love had cast out her last fear.

Love! What a searing, torturing, intolerably sweet thing it was—this

possession of body, soul and mind! With something at its core as fine

and remote and purely spiritual as the tiny blue spark in the heart of

the unbreakable diamond. No dream had ever been like this. She was no

longer solitary. She was one of a vast sisterhood—all the women who had

ever loved in the world.

Barney need never know it—though she would not in the least have minded

his knowing. But _she_ knew it and it made a tremendous difference to

her. Just to love! She did not ask to be loved. It was rapture enough

just to sit there beside him in silence, alone in the summer night in

the white splendour of moonshine, with the wind blowing down on them

out of the pine woods. She had always envied the wind. So free. Blowing

where it listed. Through the hills. Over the lakes. What a tang, what a

zip it had! What a magic of adventure! Valancy felt as if she had

exchanged her shop-worn soul for a fresh one, fire-new from the

workshop of the gods. As far back as she could look, life had been

dull—colourless—savourless. Now she had come to a little patch of

violets, purple and fragrant—hers for the plucking. No matter who or

what had been in Barney’s past—no matter who or what might be in his

future—no one else could ever have this perfect hour. She surrendered

herself utterly to the charm of the moment.

“Ever dream of ballooning?” said Barney suddenly.

“No,” said Valancy.

“I do—often. Dream of sailing through the clouds—seeing the glories of

sunset—spending hours in the midst of a terrific storm with lightning

playing above and below you—skimming above a silver cloud floor under a

full moon—wonderful!”

“It does sound so,” said Valancy. “I’ve stayed on earth in my dreams.”

She told him about her Blue Castle. It was so easy to tell Barney

things. One felt he understood everything—even the things you didn’t

tell him. And then she told him a little of her existence before she

came to Roaring Abel’s. She wanted him to see why she had gone to the

dance “up back.”