Like a boy fishing for polliwogs, she lowered the rope again and snatched it up suddenly, bringing with it another oath.
But the third time he was too quick for her. Then as he came swarming up with skinned knuckles and rage in his heart, she bolted. He chased her, dodging here and there among the bushes, then he chased her round a tree, caught her, and, in his anger and irritation somehow, kissed her.
The perfectly amazing smack on the face that followed was revelation; it also knocked him off his balance so that he sat down as though cut off at the knees.
CHAPTER XI
THE COMING OF CLEARY
She stood for a moment, frightened at her handiwork.
Then, as he pulled himself together, she drew away a step.
“What ails you?” asked she.
Ratcliffe, sitting up with his hand to the top of his head, groaned.