Page 617 - women-in-love

the hair fell loose, as she brushed it with wild, nervous hand.
She held her head aside and brushed and brushed her hair
madly. For her life, she could not turn round and face him.
For her life, SHE COULD NOT. And the knowledge made
her almost sink to the ground in a faint, helpless, spent. She
was aware of his frightening, impending figure standing
close behind her, she was aware of his hard, strong, unyield-
ing chest, close upon her back. And she felt she could not
bear it any more, in a few minutes she would fall down at his
feet, grovelling at his feet, and letting him destroy her.
The thought pricked up all her sharp intelligence and
presence of mind. She dared not turn round to him—and
there he stood motionless, unbroken. Summoning all her
strength, she said, in a full, resonant, nonchalant voice, that
was forced out with all her remaining self-control:
‘Oh, would you mind looking in that bag behind there
and giving me my—‘
Here her power fell inert. ‘My what—my what—?’ she
screamed in silence to herself.
But he had started round, surprised and startled that she
should ask him to look in her bag, which she always kept so
VERY private to herself.
She turned now, her face white, her dark eyes blazing with
uncanny, overwrought excitement. She saw him stooping to
the bag, undoing the loosely buckled strap, unattentive.
‘Your what?’ he asked.
‘Oh, a little enamel box—yellow—with a design of a cor-
morant plucking her breast—‘
She went towards him, stooping her beautiful, bare arm,

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