Summer · Chapter 11 (2/2)

“Hadn’t wanted me to be like those other girls.⁠ ⁠…” She lowered her voice and looked away from him. “So’s ’t he wouldn’t have to go out.⁠ ⁠…”

Harney stared at her. For a moment he did not seem to seize her meaning; then his face grew dark. “The damned hound! The villainous low hound!” His wrath blazed up, crimsoning him to the temples. “I never dreamed⁠—good God, it’s too vile,” he broke off, as if his thoughts recoiled from the discovery.

“I won’t never go back there,” she repeated doggedly.

“No⁠—” he assented.

There was a long interval of silence, during which she imagined that he was searching her face for more light on what she had revealed to him; and a flush of shame swept over her.

“I know the way you must feel about me,” she broke out, “… telling you such things.⁠ ⁠…”

But once more, as she spoke, she became aware that he was no longer listening. He came close and caught her to him as if he were snatching her from some imminent peril: his impetuous eyes were in hers, and she could feel the hard beat of his heart as he held her against it.

“Kiss me again⁠—like last night,” he said, pushing her hair back as if to draw her whole face up into his kiss.