But let a woman step past that mysterious wall
which separates the formal from the intimate--only one step--at once she
is surrounded by the eyes of a man as if by a thousand spies. So it was
with Anthony.
It moved him, for instance, to see the supple strength of her fingers
when she was scraping the charred bacon from the bottom of the pan, and
he was particularly fascinated by the undulations of the small, round
wrist. He glanced down to his own hand, broad and bony in comparison.
It was his absorption in this criticism that served to keep him aloof
from her while they ate, and the girl felt it like an arm pushing her
away. She had been very close to him not many hours before; now she was
far away. She could understand nothing but the pain of it.
As he finished his coffee he said, staring into a corner: "I don't know
why I came back to you, Sally."
"You didn't mean to come back when you started?"
"Of course not."
She flushed, and her heart beat loudly to hear his weakness. He was
keeping nothing from her; he was thinking aloud; she felt that the bars
between them were down again.
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