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Punshon, E. R. (Ernest Robertson), 1872-1956

"The Bittermeads Mystery"


"Will you tell me who you are?"
"I've told you one thing," he answered sullenly, his eyes on fire.
"I should have thought that was enough. I'll tell you nothing more."
"I think you are the most horrid man I ever met," she cried. "And
the very, very ugliest--all that hair on your face so that no one
can see anything else. What are you like when you cut it off?"
"Does that matter?" he asked, in the same gruff and surly manner.
"I should think it matters a good deal when I ask you," she
exclaimed. "Do you expect any one to care for a man she has never
seen--nothing but hair. You hurt my wrists awfully that night,"
she added resentfully. "And you've never even hinted you're sorry."
His reply was unexpected and it disconcerted her greatly and for
the first time, for he caught both her wrists in his hands and
kissed them passionately where the cords had been.
"You mustn't do that, please don't do that," she said quickly,
trying to release herself.
Her strength was nothing to his and he stood up and put his arm
around her and strained her to him in an embrace so passionate and
powerful she could not have resisted it though she had wished to.
But no thought of resistance came to her, since for the moment she
had lost all consciousness of everything save the strange thrill of
his bright, clear eyes looking so closely into hers, of his strong
arms holding her so firmly.


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