For under that pressure of her lips she felt his flesh quiver
and start. She looked up at the handsome bearded face, so close above
her, in swift enquiry, the potion--as once before--troubling her that, in
touching this quaint stigmata, she inflicted bodily suffering. And, as
on that earlier occasion, asked the question:
"Ah! but have I hurt you?"
Faircloth shook his head, smiling. Words failed him just then and he went
pale beneath the overlay of clear brown sunburn.
"Then tell me what this stands for?" she said, being herself strangely
moved, and desirous to lower the temperature of her own emotion--possibly
of his as well. "Tell me what it means."
"Just a boy's fear and a boy's superstition--a bit morbid, both of them,
perhaps--that is as I see things now. For I hold one should leave one's
body as it pleased the Almighty to make it, unblemished by semi-savage
decorations which won't wash off."
Faircloth moved away, drew his chair up nearer the head of the table,
the corner between them, so that his hand could if desire prompted again
find hers.
Pages:
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746