Afterward he would feel
shame for what he had done, but now he was wholly wrapped in the new
thing that had been born in her, like a bird striving to fly in the
teeth of a great storm, and giving back with reeling, drumming wings, a
beautiful and touching sight.
Her lips framed words that made no sound. Truly, she was making a
gallant struggle. Then she said: "Anthony!" She was pale with the
struggle, now, but she rose bravely to her part. She even laughed,
though it fell short like an arrow dropping in front of the target.
"Listen, Bard, you make a pretty good imitation of Samson, but I ain't
cut out for any Delilah. If I'm holding you here, why, cut and run and
forget it."
She drew a long breath and went on more confidently: "It ain't any use;
I'm not cut out for any man--I'd so much rather be--free. I've tried to
get interested in others, but it never works."
She laughed again, more surely, and with a certain hardness like the
ringing of metal against metal, or the after rhythm from the peal of a
bell. With deft, flying fingers she rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and
sat down cross-legged.
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