His light blue eyes were keen,
small-pupilled and unnatural in their vision. Her lips parted, as she
breathed with difficulty.
The passion came up in him, stroke after stroke, like the ringing of a
bronze bell, so strong and unflawed and indomitable. His knees
tightened to bronze as he hung above her soft face, whose lips parted
and whose eyes dilated in a strange violation. In the grasp of his hand
her chin was unutterably soft and silken. He felt strong as winter, his
hands were living metal, invincible and not to be turned aside. His
heart rang like a bell clanging inside him.
He took her up in his arms. She was soft and inert, motionless. All the
while her eyes, in which the tears had not yet dried, were dilated as
if in a kind of swoon of fascination and helplessness. He was
superhumanly strong, and unflawed, as if invested with supernatural
force.
He lifted her close and folded her against him. Her softness, her
inert, relaxed weight lay against his own surcharged, bronze-like limbs
in a heaviness of desirability that would destroy him, if he were not
fulfilled.
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