What was one to think of
it all then--of human love which believed itself created for eternity, of
dreams which one's soul persuaded one would come true, of aspirations
born in a hallucination of power, of that spark within one which played
one false, of believing one could master fate only to find one had
erected a child's house upon the sands, and that what had been achieved
in consciousness of great power could be swept away so easily that the
ocean was not even conscious of having taken it unto itself?
Very sternly, very understandingly, their lives swept before her
anew.... Just one little wave from the tide of fate had lapped up,
unknowingly, uncaringly, that house upon the sand which a delusion of the
spirit had made seem a castle grounded in eternity. Why blind one's self
to the truth and call life fair? For what had they fought and suffered
and believed and hoped? Just to hear the mocking voice of the outgoing
tide?
The fury of the sea was creeping into her blood. Rage possessed her.
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