But even before his body swerved forward on her, a sudden, cunning
comprehension was expressed on her face, and in a flash she was out of
the door. She ran in one flash to her room and locked herself in. She
was afraid, but confident. She knew her life trembled on the edge of an
abyss. But she was curiously sure of her footing. She knew her cunning
could outwit him.
She trembled, as she stood in her room, with excitement and awful
exhilaration. She knew she could outwit him. She could depend on her
presence of mind, and on her wits. But it was a fight to the death, she
knew it now. One slip, and she was lost. She had a strange, tense,
exhilarated sickness in her body, as one who is in peril of falling
from a great height, but who does not look down, does not admit the
fear.
'I will go away the day after tomorrow,' she said.
She only did not want Gerald to think that she was afraid of him, that
she was running away because she was afraid of him. She was not afraid
of him, fundamentally.
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