She looked at it ruefully;
was about to make use of the incident to lessen the tension of the
moment when he came across to her. Standing in front of her, he looked
down at the broken glove, and her white skin laid bare by the rent
stitching.
"You'll let me get you a new pair," he said under his breath. In that
instant he wanted to give her the world. The proffer of the gloves
tried to express the sensation.
She looked up into his face with a very small smile--half refusal,
half gratitude. When her eyes met his, she realized that her senses
were swimming. She was standing on a giddy height, to throw herself
from which, became an almost imperative inclination. She felt that
she was losing her balance and in another moment would be pitching
forward into his arms. She wanted to tell him to kiss her, and words
of violent strength, which she had never dreamed of before, shouted
suggestions through her--even to her lips. He seemed to be waiting
for her to do all this, but made no move to accelerate it; then she
swung backwards--turned blindly to the table, laying down her gloves
and the little brown-paper parcel.
"You're going to take off your hat now," he said; "this room's too
hot for accessories.
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