It was not only that she wanted pardon, kindness,
companionship, the things that she had been so systematically deprived
of; she wanted the man himself, the partner, and the mate to whom
nature had given her a right.
Abruptly she changed her position, scrambling forward close against
him, and put up both her hands to his shoulders.
"Will, stoop your head. I want to whisper something."
Then, as soon as he bent toward her, she clasped her hands behind his
neck and tried to drag him down in a kiss.
"What yer doin'? Let me be."
"No, I won't. I won't." She was holding him with all her strength,
pulling herself up since she could not pull him down. "Be nice to me."
And as he recoiled she thrust forward her upturned face, the cheeks
hard and white, the eyes burning, the mouth not quite closing even
while she spoke. "I won't let you go, till you've kissed me and made
it up for good an' all."
She was acting now as instinctively as any wild animal of the woods.
What had started in the zone of voluntary impulse had now passed into
the ruling power of reflexes; every nerve of her body seemed to be
thinking for itself, guiding her, and compelling her to struggle for
the desired end. All this nonsense of high-falutin' morality must be
swept aside; if he loved her still, he must admit that he loved her;
it must be love or hate, but no more sham and pretense, no more of
these half measures that made her a wife when people were looking, and
an enemy, a culprit in disgrace, or a sexless business associate, when
they two were alone behind drawn blinds.
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