She had reached the ripe beauty
of her womanhood. She would never be more magnificent than she was at
that moment. The magic of her went to the man's head like wine. Till
that instant he had to a great extent controlled himself, but that was
the turning-point. She dazzled him, she intoxicated him, she maddened
him.
The savagery in him flared into a red blaze of passion. Without another
word he caught her suddenly to him, and before she could begin to
realise his intention he had kissed her fiercely upon the lips.
IX
The moments that followed were like a ghastly nightmare to Beryl, for,
struggle as she might, she knew herself to be helpless. Having once
passed the bounds of civilisation, he gave full rein to his savagery.
And again and yet again, holding her crushed to him, he kissed her
shrinking face. He was as a man possessed, and once he laughed--a
devilish laugh--at the weakness of her resistance.
And then quite suddenly she felt his grip relax. He let her go abruptly,
so that she tottered and almost fell, only saving herself by one of the
pillars of the arbour.
A great surging was in her brain, a surging that nearly deafened her.
She was too spent, too near to swooning, to realise what it was that had
wrought her deliverance. She could only cling gasping and quivering to
her support while the tumult within her gradually subsided.
It was several seconds later that she began to be aware of something
happening, of some commotion very near to her, of trampling to and fro,
and now and again of a voice that cursed.
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