"Don't speak of him that way," she cried scrambling to her feet. "Keep
what you think to yourself."
"And what do _you_ think?" he said and moved forward toward her.
She made no answer, and it was very silent in the cleft. As he came
nearer the grasses crackling under his soft tread were the only sound.
She saw that his face was pale under the tan, the nostrils slightly
dilated. Stepping with a careful lightness, his movements suggested a
carefully maintained adjustment, a being quivering in a breathless
balance. She backed away till she stood pressed against the rock. She
felt her thoughts scattering and made an effort to hold them as though
grasping at tangible, escaping things.
He stopped close to her, and neither spoke for a moment, eye hard on
eye, then hers shifted and dropped.
"You think about him as I do," said the man.
"No," she answered, "no," but her voice showed uncertainty.
"Why don't you tell the truth? Why do you lie?"
"No," this time the word was hardly audible, and she tried to impress
it by shaking her head.
He made a step toward her and seized one of her hands.
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