Chapters (38)
- Copyright Notice
- FOREWORD
- CLIFFS OF FALL
- THE PARTY
- A PLACE IN THE COUNTRY
- VITTORIO
- IN ONE’S OWN HOUSE
- VILLA ADRIANA
- CLIFFS OF FALL
- WEEKEND
- HAROLD
- THE PICNIC
- THE WORST MOMENT OF THE DAY
- PEOPLE IN GLASS HOUSES
- NOTHING IN EXCESS
- THE FLOWERS OF SORROW
- THE MEETING
- SWOBODA’S TRAGEDY
- THE STORY OF MISS SADIE GRAINE
- OFFICIAL LIFE
- A SENSE OF MISSION
- THE SEPARATION OF DINAH DELBANCO
- UNCOLLECTED / UNPUBLISHED
- WOOLLAHRA ROAD
- FORGIVING
- COMFORT
- OUT OF ITEA
- THE EVERLASTING DELIGHT
- THE STATUE AND THE BUST
- LEAVE IT TO ME
- SIR CECIL’S RIDE
- LE NOZZE
- THE SACK OF SILENCE
- EDITOR’S NOTE
- Also by Shirley Hazzard
- Praise for Collected Stories
- A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
Clem, on the other hand, was neatly dressed in a light summer suit; his collar and tie had admirably withstood the long journey in a hot train. He seemed a little browner, and his eyes were bright and slightly reddened as though he had slept badly. He came in without speaking, and she closed the door after him. He was holding a brief case, which he put down in a corner of the tiny hall. When she turned from closing the door, he said her name, and put his arms around her with such intensity of feeling that she had no time to raise her own and stood within his embrace as if she did not submit to it. Love, however, was too strong for her, and she moved her cheek against the side of his head. I will have to know soon, she thought, what he has agreed to do.
“I left the coffee on,” she said, unclasping his arms and stepping aside. She went into the kitchen without glancing at him, and turned the gas off. He came and stood in the doorway. She still could not look at his face, which she knew must explain everything to her. “Shall I make you some lunch?” she asked.
“Just coffee.”
She was lifting down the cups and saucers. “If you take the coffee in, I’ll bring the tray.” He stood back to let her pass, and she went into the living room and put the tray on a table in front of the sofa. “Thanks. Oh, not there; that won’t stand heat—yes, there, on the tile.” Sitting on the sofa, she poured his coffee and her own, and they drank in silence.
“You haven’t had breakfast, then?”
She looked at him now, over the rim of her cup. “I only just woke up.” In case that should sound unfeeling, she added: “I was exhausted.” She was suddenly reminded of her appearance. She put her cup down and raised her hand to her head. “I haven’t even done my hair.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Let me do it while you have your coffee. It won’t take a minute.” She started to rise from the sofa.
“No, don’t go,” he said, taking her hand. She sat down again, still watching him. He held her hand in both of his for a moment, and then pressed it against his mouth and burst into tears.