"I've done bein' polite, Sally. I've asked you a question."
"And I've answered you: I don't know."
"Sally, I'm patient; I don't mean no wrong to you. What you've been to
me I'm goin' to bust myself tryin' to forget; but don't lie to me now."
Such a far greater woe kept up a throbbing ache in the hollow of her
throat that now she laughed, laughed slowly, deliberately. He leaned,
caught her wrist in a crushing pressure.
"You demon; you she-devil!"
She whirled out of the bunk, the blanket caught about her like the toga
of some ancient Roman girl; and as she moved she had swept up something
heavy and bright from the floor.
All this, and still his grip was on her left arm.
"Drop your hand, Nash."
With a falling of the heart, she knew that he did not fear her gun;
instead, a light of pleasure gleamed in his eyes and his lower jaw
thrust out.
She would never forget his face as he looked that moment.
"Will you tell me?"
"I'll see you in hell first."
By that wrist he drew her resistlessly toward him, and his other arm
went about her and crushed her close; hate, shame, rage, love were in
the contorted face above her.
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