She held her head
aside and brushed and brushed her hair madly. For her life, she could
not turn round and face him. For her life, SHE COULD NOT. And the
knowledge made her almost sink to the ground in a faint, helpless,
spent. She was aware of his frightening, impending figure standing
close behind her, she was aware of his hard, strong, unyielding chest,
close upon her back. And she felt she could not bear it any more, in a
few minutes she would fall down at his feet, grovelling at his feet,
and letting him destroy her.
The thought pricked up all her sharp intelligence and presence of mind.
She dared not turn round to him--and there he stood motionless,
unbroken. Summoning all her strength, she said, in a full, resonant,
nonchalant voice, that was forced out with all her remaining
self-control:
'Oh, would you mind looking in that bag behind there and giving me
my--'
Here her power fell inert. 'My what--my what--?' she screamed in
silence to herself.
But he had started round, surprised and startled that she should ask
him to look in her bag, which she always kept so VERY private to
herself.
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