. . Dear Lin, that blow may have hurt you
dreadfully--shamed you because you couldn't strike back at my dad--but it
reached me, too. It hurt me. It woke my heart. . . . Where--where did he hit
you? Oh, I've seen him hit men! His terrible fists!"
"Lucy, never mind," whispered Slone. "I'd stood to be shot just for this."
He felt her hands softly on his face, feeling around tenderly till they found
the swollen bruise on mouth and chin.
"Ah! . . . He struck you. And I--I'll kiss you," she whispered. "If kisses
will make it well--it'll be well!"
She seemed strange, wild, passionate in her tenderness. She lifted her face
and kissed him softly again and again and again, till the touch that had been
exquisitely painful to his bruised lips became rapture. Then she leaned back
in his arms, her hands on his shoulders, white-faced, dark-eyed, and laughed
up in his face, lovingly, daringly, as if she defied the world to change what
she had done.
"Lucy! Lucy! . . . He can beat me--again!" said Slone, low and hoarsely.
Pages:
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400