''Here she comes!'' he whispers. ''She is creeping about the wall. She means to watch and not disturb us. Now, let her know I have you . . .''
He kisses my head. The bulk and heat and pressure of him, the warmth and thickness of the day, my own confusion, make me stand and let him, limply. He takes one hand from about my waist and lifts my arm. He kisses the cloth of my sleeve. When I feel his mouth upon my wrist, I flinch. ''Now, now,'' he says. ''Be good, for a moment. Excuse my whiskers. Imagine my mouth hers.'' The words come wetly upon my flesh. He pushes my glove a little way along my hand, he parts his lips, he touches my palm with the point of his
ngue; and I shudder, with weakness, with fear and distaste—with rl''smay, to know Sue stands and watches, in satisfaction, thinking me his.
For he has shown me to myself. He leads me to her, we walk to the house, she takes my cloak, takes my shoes; her cheek is pink, after all- she stands frowning at the glass, moves a hand, lightly, across her face . . ? That is all she does; but I see it, and my heart gives a plunge—that caving, or dropping, that has so much panic in it, so much darkne