He spoke disconnectedly. There were pauses during which he allowed the night to punctuate his thoughts.
"Have you written any more things since last time?" Doris asked.
"No. I didn't bring anything with me."
He was silent. Doris wished he would sit closer to her. His silence excited her. She could feel things moving in him. She became nervous. Her dark eyes looked fully at his profile and a pride elated her. Other men didn't stare like that into the night. They had fussy little eyes and fussy little bodies. They fidgeted around. But Lief sat as if he were turned to granite.
There was something ominous about him. The glint of his straight eyes and the leather color of his face were ominous. She felt that he was powerful, more powerful than the spaces he stared into. He could stand up and swing the park around their heads. She wanted to come close to him.
"Lief," she whispered, "why don't you come oftener. I get lonely for you. I hardly talk to anybody else."
He nodded as if agreeing with her and saying silently, "That's right. Don't talk to anybody else." But he said nothing aloud.
She wanted to be the thing he swung around his head. If he would take her up and destroy her it would make her crazy with happiness. She closed her fingers around his hand and trembled. Her body felt weak. Her arms were as if she no longer directed them. They were being drawn.
"I'm so proud of you. You're so different from all of them, Lief. I can't stand them sometimes. They're terrible."
He nodded his head with a ponderous air of sagacity.