“Forgive me.”
Faintly and sadly she smiled.
“Will you?” he asked.
“Kiss me.”
In the unique syllables of the words, which in a woman’s mouth are so fluid, there was a forgiveness so entire and a love so great that in passionate contrition he drew her to him. Longly their lips met. She closed her eyes, opened them, disengaged herself, moved back a step and looked at him. For the first time she noticed the grime on his face. It did not astonish. It seemed natural after what they had both been through and it occurred to her that her own appearance might be equally bizarre.
Briefly then, in this lull in the storm, she told him what Violet had suggested—the buying and divorce of Barouffski.
“That will take time,” he objected. “The shortest way ’round is the quickest way out. If you had not interfered in the garden——”
A gesture completed the sentence.
“No matter,” he grimly added. “I haven’t done with him yet.”