He really meant it. He wished her to forget her grievance, to be kind once again, to fondle him as before.
He approached the table and pinched her cheek.
She thrust his hand aside.
“Away from me!”
“Psh, psh, psh! What an angry lady!”... He sat down nearby and placed his arms about her waist.
“Better go away before I get angry!” she cried, tearing herself from his grasp.
He pressed her close to him, bent her head toward his and began to kiss her, stifling her outcries with his lips. She seized the glass of hot tea, but he snatched it away from her grasp. Only with the greatest effort did she tear herself free.
“I’ll break your head for you!” she screamed, jumping to her feet. He laughed with a passionate, repulsive laughter.
The shadow of his repulsive, passionate laughter still lay upon his lips when he went back to his work. He still felt the kisses upon his lips and felt, too, that he was sated and that his heart was eased. He attacked his work with a happy will and knew that, in the end, to-morrow or the day after, Chyenke would be won over. He forgot the whole world.