"No, no. Don't move. I.... I don't want you to move."
Unconsciously, Sally gave a little sigh. It was all so easy, so much a question of his being content with whatever she gave, that the adventure was fading. It was ceasing to amuse her.
"That's enough," she said. "Now I'm going home." She did not move, and Gaga's clasp tightened.
"No," he murmured entreatingly. "Not yet."
"Must go." She took her hand away from his forehead, lingeringly. Gaga held her to him with rigidity. "Let me go." He took no notice, and Sally's hand rested gently upon his shoulder. At last: "Well?" said she.
"Don't go."
There was the slightest struggle, and Sally was free. Gaga's face was quite red. She stood looking down at him, on her lips that same quizzical smile. Gaga could not bear it. He rose quickly, and at her flight followed breathlessly. She was again lightly imprisoned, her head to his breast, and his arms giving small convulsive pressures as he sought to retain her. She could tell his physical weakness, and his feeble, excited desire for her, and she felt his face pressed to her hair. Again Gaga kissed Sally, but she continued to withhold her lips, so that he approached no nearer than her cheek.
"You ... you must know I love you," breathed Gaga.
"Do I?" asked Sally, coolly. "I don't. Why should I?"
"Can't you tell?" He was speaking directly into her ear, so that she felt his breath. "I love you ... like this!" He held her with all his strength, and gave her cheek a fevered, gnawing kiss. "D'you see, Sally? I love you."