Сестра Керри

Chapter XXII. The Blaze Of The Tinder: Flesh Wars With The Flesh

           Hewasonthedefensiveatawinkandpuzzledforawordtoreply.

           “Whatdoyoumean?”hesaidatlast,straighteninghimselfandgazingatthecold,determinedfigurebeforehim,whopaidnoattention,butwentonarrangingherselfbeforethemirror.

           “YouknowwhatImean,”shesaid,finally,asiftherewereaworldofinformationwhichsheheldinreserve—whichshedidnotneedtotell.

           “Well,Idon’t,”hesaid,stubbornly,yetnervousandalertforwhatshouldcomenext.Thefinalityofthewoman’smannertookawayhisfeelingofsuperiorityinbattle.

           Shemadenoanswer.

           “Hmph!”hemurmured,withamovementofhisheadtooneside.Itwastheweakestthinghehadeverdone.Itwastotallyunassured.

           Mrs.Hurstwoodnoticedthelackofcolourinit.Sheturneduponhim,animal-like,abletostrikeaneffectualsecondblow.

           “IwanttheWaukeshamoneyto-morrowmorning,”shesaid.

           Helookedatherinamazement.Neverbeforehadheseensuchacold,steelydeterminationinhereye—suchacruellookofindifference.Sheseemedathoroughmasterofhermood—thoroughlyconfidentanddeterminedtowrestallcontrolfromhim.Hefeltthatallhisresourcescouldnotdefendhim.Hemustattack.

           “Whatdoyoumean?”hesaid,jumpingup.“Youwant!I’dliketoknowwhat’sgotintoyouto-night.”

           “Nothing’sgotintome,”shesaid,flaming.“Iwantthatmoney.Youcandoyourswaggeringafterwards.”

           “Swaggering,eh!What!You’llgetnothingfromme.Whatdoyoumeanbyyourinsinuations,anyhow?”

           “Wherewereyoulastnight?”sheanswered.Thewordswerehotastheycame.

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