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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
you know either. What was the last sonnet about?"
"I dont know," she laughed frankly. "Ive already forgotten. Dont let
us read any more. The day is too beautiful."
"It will be our last in the hills for some time," he announced gravely.
"Theres a storm gathering out there on the sea-rim."
The book slipped from his hands to the ground, and they sat idly and
silently, gazing out over the dreamy bay with eyes that dreamed and did
not see. Ruth glanced sidewise at his neck. She did not lean toward
him. She was drawn by some force outside of herself and stronger than
gravitation, strong as destiny. It was only an inch to lean, and it was
accomplished without volition on her part. Her shoulder touched his as
lightly as a butterfly touches a flower, and just as lightly was the
counter-pressure. She felt his shoulder press hers, and a tremor run
through him. Then was the time for her to draw back. But she had become
an automaton. Her actions had passed beyond the control of her will--she
never thought of control or will in the delicious madness that was upon
her. His arm began to steal behind her and around her. She waited its
slow progress in a torment of delight. She waited, she knew not for
what, panting, with dry, burning lips, a leaping pulse, and a fever of
expectancy in all her blood. The girdling arm lifted higher and drew her
toward him, drew her slowly and caressingly. She could wait no longer.
With a tired sigh, and with an impulsive movement all her own,
unpremeditated, spasmodic, she rested her head upon his breast. His head
bent over swiftly, and, as his lips approached, hers flew to meet them.
This must be love, she thought, in the one rational moment that was
vouchsafed her. If it was not love, it was too shameful. It could be
nothing else than love. She loved the man whose arms were around her and
whose lips were pressed to hers. She pressed more, tightly to him, with
a snuggling movement of her body. And a moment later, tearing herself
half out of his embrace, suddenly and exultantly she reached up and
placed both hands upon Martin Edens sunburnt neck. So exquisite was the
pang of love and desire fulfilled that she uttered a low moan, relaxed
her hands, and lay half-swooning in his arms.
Not a word had been spoken, and not a word was spoken for a long time.
Twice he bent and kissed her, and each time her lips met his shyly and
her body made its happy, nestling movement. She clung to him, unable to
release herself, and he sat, half supporting her in his arms, as he gazed
with unseeing eyes at the blur of the great city across the bay. For
once there were no visions in his brain. Only colors and lights and
glows pulsed there, warm as the day and warm as his love. He bent over
her. She was speaking.
"When did you love me?" she whispered.
"From the first, the very first, the first moment I laid eye on you. I
was mad for love of you then, and in all the time that has passed since
then I have only grown the madder. I am maddest, now, dear. I am almost
a lunatic, my head is so turned with joy."
"I am glad I am a woman, Martin--dear," she said, after a long sigh.
He crushed her in his arms again and again, and then asked:-
"And you? When did you first know?"
"Oh, I knew it all the time, almost, from the first."
"And I have been as blind as a bat!" he cried, a ring of vexation in his
voice. "I never dreamed it until just how, when I--when I kissed you."
"I didnt mean that." She drew herself partly away and looked at him. "I
meant I knew you loved almost from the first."
"And you?" he demanded.
"It came to me suddenly." She was speaking very slowly, her eyes warm
and fluttery and melting, a soft flush on her cheeks that did not go
away. "I never knew until just now when--you put your arms around me.
And I never expected to marry Martin Eden page 83 Martin Eden page 85 |