How
cold that hand was! All the more reason for warming it on his lips and
on his bosom; but, for all his caressing, the little hand remained cold,
as cold as the hand of a corpse.
Surely that throbbing breast, those provocative lips, are not as cold?
Halil, intoxicated with passion, embraced the girl, and as he drew her
to his breast, as he pressed her to him, the girl murmured to
herself--it sounded like a gentle long-drawn-out sigh:
"Blessed Mary!"
And then the girl's long black hair streamed over her face, and when
Halil smoothed it aside from the fair countenance to see if it had not
grown redder beneath his embrace--behold! it was whiter than ever. All
trace of life had fled from it, the eyes were cast down, the lips
closed and bluish. Dead, dead--a corpse lay before him!
But Halil would not believe it. He fancied that the girl was only
pretending. He put his hand on her fair bosom--but he could not hear the
beating of the heart. The girl had lost all sense of feeling. He could
have done with her what he would. A dead body lay in his bosom.
An ice-cold feeling of horror penetrated Halil's heart, altogether
extinguishing the burning flame of passion. All tremulously he released
the girl and laid her down. Then he whispered full of fear:
"Awake! I will not hurt you, I will not hurt you."
Her light kaftan had glided down from her bosom; he restored it to its
place and, awe-struck, he continued gazing at the features of the lovely
corpse.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45