le
satisfaction, she brought down the ball of jewel stone with all her
force, crash on his head. But her fingers were in the way and deadened
the blow. Nevertheless, down went his head on the table on which his
book lay, the stone slid aside and over his ear, it was one convulsion
of pure bliss for her, lit up by the crushed pain of her fingers. But
it was not somehow complete. She lifted her arm high to aim once more,
straight down on the head that lay dazed on the table. She must smash
it, it must be smashed before her ecstasy was consummated, fulfilled
for ever. A thousand lives, a thousand deaths mattered nothing now,
only the fulfilment of this perfect ecstasy.

She was not swift, she could only move slowly. A strong spirit in him
woke him and made him lift his face and twist to look at her. Her arm
was raised, the hand clasping the ball of lapis lazuli. It was her left
hand, he realised again with horror that she was left-handed.
Hurriedly, with a burrowing motion, he covered his head under the thick
volume of Thucydides, and the blow came down, almost breaking his neck,
and shattering his heart.

He was shattered, but he was not afraid. Twisting round to face her he
pushed the table over and got away from her. He was like a flask that
is smashed to atoms, he seemed to himself that he was all fragments,
smashed to bits. Yet his movements were perfectly coherent and clear,
his soul was entire and unsurprised.

'No you don't, Hermione,' he said in a low voice. 'I don't let you.'

He saw her standing tall and livid and attentive, the stone clenched
tense in her hand.

'Stand away and let me go,' he said, drawing near to her.

As if pressed back by some hand, she stood away, watching him all the
time without changing, like a neutralised angel confronting him.

'It is not good,' he said, when he had gone past her. 'It isn't I who
will die. You hear?'

He kept his face to her as he went out, lest she should strike again.
While he was on his guard, she dared not move. And he was on his guard,
she was powerless. So he had gone, and left her standing.

She remained perfectly rigid, standing as she was for a long time. Then
she staggered to the couch and lay down, and went heavily to sleep.
When she awoke, she remembered what she had done, but it seemed to her,
she had only hit him, as any woman might do, because he tortured her.
She was perfectly right. She knew that, spiritually, she was right. In
her own infal