The girl's hand touched his cheek, warm and caressing. He made
no movement of his own, except to rise rigidly when she unclasped her
arms from about his shoulders.
"There; he won't hurt you now!" she exclaimed in triumph.
Her cheeks were flaming, but not with embarrassment. Her eyes were as
clear as the violets he had crushed under his feet in the mountain
valleys. He looked at her as she stood before him, so much like a child,
and yet enough of a woman to make his own cheeks burn. And then he saw a
sudden changing expression come into her face. There was something
pathetic about it, something that made him see again what he had
forgotten--her exhaustion, the evidences of her struggle. She was
looking at his pack.
"We haven't had anything to eat since we ran away," she said simply.
"I'm hungry."
He had heard children say "I'm hungry" in that same voice, with the same
hopeful and entreating insistence in it; he had spoken those words
himself a thousand times, to his mother, in just that same way, it
seemed to him; and as she stood there, looking at his pack, he was
filled with a very strong desire to crumple her close in his arms--not
as a woman, but as a child. And this desire held him so still for a
moment that she thought he was waiting for her to explain.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251