... O Mouse, you will be good to some woman some day."
Her long strong arms reached up and drew him down. It was his
head that rested on her shoulder. It seemed to both of them
that it was he who was to be petted, not she. He pressed his
cheek against the comforting hollow of her curving shoulder and
rested there, abandoned to a forlorn and growing happiness, the
happiness of getting so far outside of his tight world of
Wrennishness that he could give comfort and take comfort with no
prim worried thoughts of Wrenn.
Istra murmured: "Perhaps that's what I need--some one to need
me. Only--" She stroked his hair. "Now you must go, dear."
"You--It's better now? I'm afraid I ain't helped you much.
It's kinda t' other way round."
"Oh yes, indeed, it's all right now! Just nerves. Nothing more.
Now, good night."
"Please, won't you come to the picnic to-morrow? It's--"
"No. Sorry, but can't possibly."
"Please think it over."
"No, no, no, no, dear! You go and forget me and enjoy yourself
and be good to your pink-face--Nelly, isn't it? She seems to be
terribly nice, and I know you two will have a good party.
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