He still stood staring at her. “Didn’t it burn you? Jeeze! It must have burnt you!”
A little frown settled between her eyebrows. “Can’t I have some more?” There was a slight grating sound in her voice.
Hienie looked at her sharply, hesitated, then filled her glass. This time he took a long pull from the jar himself. The liquor made him choke and splutter. When he had recovered, he saw she was nursing the empty glass, her eyes on the jar. He put the cork back firmly, and thumped it home with his fist.
Don’t do that,” she said sharply, “I want some more.”
Hienie shook his head. He felt a sudden confidence. He was no longer nervous of her. He didn’t care how mad she might be, he could handle her. “You’ve had plenty,” he said, putting the jar by the door, away from her. “You don’t want too much of that stuff.”
She put her hand on his arm, and leant close to him. Her breath, smelling of the sweet, sickly spirit, fanned his face. “There’s such a lot left—I’m thirsty.”
Hienie shifted closer to her. She was giving him the works all right. He slid his arm round her back. “Maybe there is, baby, but we’ve got a lot of time to kill.”
“But it’s so nice,” she giggled suddenly. “It makes me feel tight.” She leant against his arm.
“Sure it makes you feel tight.” He encircled her waist, letting his hand rest on her hip bone. She looked down at his hand, then swiftly up into his face. He pulled her close to him. “Your pa’s got plenty of dough, ain’t he?” he said, waiting for her to pull away.
She didn’t move. “Why did you ask that?”