“Ruthie, you mustn’t carry on so.” Then, “What has he done to you?” I asked fiercely. “You’re afraid.”
“He’s guessed.”
“Guessed what?”
“What you never knew.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t tell you. If you’d guessed, it might have made all the difference.”
I did not dare to speak—her whisper was so ashamed. Her hand was hot in mine. She withdrew it. When I leant over her she shuddered, just as the trees had done when they knew the rain was coming, as though I were a thing to her both sweet and dreadful. She took my face between her hands, and yet shrank back from me. She delighted in and feared the thing she was doing.
The rain volleyed against the carriage, shutting us in as with a tightly drawn curtain; yet, did I look up, through the gray mist the tepid gold of the sun was shining.
“Ruthie, it seems almost too good to be true that we’re alone at last together—to have you all to myself.”
“Did you ever want me, Dannie?”