In the morning Gerald woke late. He had slept heavily. Pussum was still
asleep, sleeping childishly and pathetically. There was something small
and curled up and defenceless about her, that roused an unsatisfied
flame of passion in the young man's blood, a devouring avid pity. He
looked at her again. But it would be too cruel to wake her. He subdued
himself, and went away.
Hearing voices coming from the sitting-room, Halliday talking to
Libidnikov, he went to the door and glanced in. He had on a silk wrap
of a beautiful bluish colour, with an amethyst hem.
To his surprise he saw the two young men by the fire, stark naked.
Halliday looked up, rather pleased.
'Good-morning,' he said. 'Oh--did you want towels?' And stark naked he
went out into the hall, striding a strange, white figure between the
unliving furniture. He came back with the towels, and took his former
position, crouching seated before the fire on the fender.
'Don't you love to feel the fire on your skin?' he said.
'It IS rather pleasant,' said Gerald.
'How perfectly splendid it must be to be in a climate where one could
do without clothing altogether,' said Halliday.
'Yes,' said Gerald, 'if there weren't so many things that sting and
bite.' 'That's a disadvantage,' murmured Maxim.
Gerald looked at him, and with a slight revulsion saw the human animal,
golden skinned and bare, somehow humiliating. Halliday was different.
He had a rather heavy, slack, broken beauty, white and firm. He was
like a Christ in a Pieta. The animal was not there at all, only the
heavy, broken beauty. And Gerald realised how Halliday's eyes were
beautiful too, so blue and warm and confused, broken also in their
expression. The fireglow fell on his heavy, rather bowed shoulders, he
sat slackly crouched on the fender, his face was uplifted, weak,
perhaps slightly disintegrate, and yet with a moving beauty of its own.
'Of course,' said Maxim, 'you've been in hot countries where the people
go about naked.' 'Oh really!' exclaimed Halliday. 'Where?' 'South America--Amazon,' said Gerald.
'Oh but how perfectly splendid! It's one of the things I want most to
do--to live from day to day without EVER putting on any sort of
clothing whatever. If I could do that, I should feel I had lived.' 'But why?' said Gerald. 'I can't see that it makes so much difference.' 'Oh, I think it would be perfectly splendid. I'm sure life would be
entirely another thing--entirely different, and perfectly wonderful.' 'But why?' asked Gerald. 'Why should it?' 'Oh--one would FEEL things instead of merely looking at them. I should
feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of
having only to look at them. I'm sure life is all wrong because it has
become much too visual--we can neither hear nor feel nor understand, we
can only see. I'm sure that is entirely wrong.' 'Yes, that is true, that is true,' said the Russian.