"You're a liar," she burst out before she knew what words were coming.
"Then you think you could?" he asked without the slightest show of
surprise at her violence, apparently only curious.
"Don't I?" she cried, ready to proclaim that she would follow David to
destruction and death.
"I don't know," he answered. "I've been wondering."
"What business have you got to wonder about me?"
"None--but," he leaned toward her, "you can't stop me doing that,
little lady; that's one of the things you _can't_ control."
For a moment they eyed each other, glance held glance in a smoldering
challenge. The quizzical patronage had gone from his, the gleam of a
subdued defiance taken its place. Hers was defiant too, but it was
openly so, a surface thing that she had raised like a defense in haste
and tremor to hide weakness.
David moved in his blanket, yawned and threw out a languid hand. She
leaped to her feet and ran to him.
"David, are you better?" she cried, kneeling beside him. "Are you
better, dear?"
He opened his eyes, blinking, saw the beloved face, and smiled.
"All right," he said sleepily.
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