She turned her head on its flare of drying hair away from him. The beach was all but quiet and the haze of the end of day in the air, almost in her eyes, too.
"Oh, Getaway!" she said, on a sigh, and again, "Getaway!"
His reserve with her, at which he himself was the first to marvel, went down a little then and he seized her bare arm, kissing it, almost sinking his teeth. The curve of her chin down into her throat, as she turned her head, had maddened him.
"Quit," she said.
"Never you mind. You'll wear diamonds," he said, in his sole phraseology of promise. "Will you get sore if I ask you something, Fairylin?"
"What?"
"Want one now?"
"Want what?"
"A diamond."
"No," she said. "When I'm out here I quit wanting things like that."