wide sargasso sea

'She love you so much, so much. Try her once more.'
I tell you she loves no one, anyone. I could not touch her.
Excepting as the hurricane will touch that tree - and break it. You
say I did? No. That was love's fierce play. Now I'll do it.
She'll not laugh in the sun again. She'll not dress up and smile
at herself in that damnable looking-glass. So pleased, so satisfied.
Vain, silly creature. Made for loving? Yes, but she'll have no
lover, for I don't want her and she'll see no other.
The tree shivers. Shivers and gathers all its strength. And waits.
(There is a cool wind blowing now - a cold wind. Does it carry
the babe born to stride the blast of hurricanes?)
She said she loved this place. This is the last she'll see of it.
I'll watch for one tear, one human tear. Not that blank hating
moonstruck face. I'll listen. . . . If she says good-bye perhaps adieu.
Adieu - like those old-time songs she sang. Always adieu ( and all
songs to it). If she too says it, or weeps, I'll take her in my arms,
my lunatic. She's mad but mine, mine. What will I care for gods or
devils or for Fate itself. If she smiles or weeps or both. For me.
Antoinetta - I can be gentle too. Hide your face. Hide yourself
but in my arms. You'll soon see how gentle. My lunatic. My mad
girl.
Here's a cloudy day to help you. No brazen sun.
No sun . . . No sun. The weather's changed.