"Five years ago," he told her, "if you had tried
this foolery, I would have choked you, and thrown
what was left in the dam."

"And now--" she jeered fearlessly.

"It's different," he admitted moodily.

It was. Somewhere the lash had been lost from
the whip of his desire. He was still eager, tormented
by the wish to feel her disdainful mouth
against his. The recrudescence of spring burned
in his veins; but, at the same time, there was a new
reluctance upon his flesh. The inanimate, obese
mask of the priest, Lettice's sleeping countenance
faintly stamped with pain, hovered in his consciousness.
"It's different," he repeated.

"You are losing your hold on pleasure," she observed
critically aloof.

He leaned forward, and grasped her wrist, and,
with a slight motion, forced her upon her knees.
"If you are pleasure I'm not," he challenged.

"You are hurting my arm," she said coldly. His
grip tightened, and a small grimace crossed her lips.
"Let go," she demanded; and then a swift passion
shrilled her voice. "Let go, you are crushing my
wrist. Damn you to hell!, if you spoil my wrist
I'll kill you."

For a moment, as he held her, she reminded Gordon
of a venomous snake; he had never seen such
a lithe, wicked hatred in any other human being.

[[209]]

p208 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p209w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p210

v?