"No!" she gasped, trying to break free. Still he held her, but she
persisted. "It's not right."
At last he released her. With this action he too seemed to remember
himself, and to refrain,
though his reasons were vastly different.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I'm afraid you quite carry me away." She
gazed back at him, his features half hidden in the gloom, trying to
understand the source and meaning of his words. It was impossible.
"Oh," she said in despair. "I didn't want it to end like this.
Couldn't you just embrace me, as you would a friend, and say
good-night?"
"As a friend
?" So sharp and demanding was his voice, his whole bearing, that she
found herself saying, quite against her will:
"Please, just give me a little more time. I'm not ready....."
And these words, like so many other innocent acts, seemed to achieve
an end of their own, altogether separate from what she had intended.
Stephen was strangely soothed, and gratified, as if hearing exactly
what he wanted to. She felt, as much as saw him smile. He came to her,
and embraced her gently.
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