Therese could hear the cold hate in his voice. For a moment he scared her, then she forced a little laugh. “Now don’t get mad,” she said, “these soldiers ain’t looking for a girl. You’ll be able to get away easily. Can’t you see that?”
The boy knew she was right. But the thought of putting those things on struck at his little manhood. He told himself that he’d rather be found and killed than put them on. But when Therese started pulling off his coat, he just stood frozen and let her.
“Come on,” she said impatiently, “don’t stand there like a dummy. Help yourself. Get your pants off, don’t mind me. I’ve seen all you’ve got, an’ it don’t worry me any.”
As if in some repulsive nightmare, the boy stripped. He stood on the coconut matting, thin, a little dirty, and shuddering.
Therese looked him over with a kindly, mocking smile. “You ain’t much of a picture, are you?” she said, lightly. “I guess you want buildin’ up.”
The boy told himself that when all this was over he’d come back and kill her. Right now he couldn’t do anything. He had just to suffer his humiliation.
Therese pushed him on to the bed and tossed the knickers in his lap. “Get ’em on,” she said, “then I’ll fix your front up.”
The feel of the silk against his bony thighs broke the last shred of his self-control. He sat there, his fists on his knees, and his eyes wild, swearing softly through his full lips. Even Therese was shocked at the things he said.
“If you don’t shut that foul little trap of yours,” she snapped at last, “I’ll toss you out of here as you are.”
The boy stopped swearing and looked at her. She felt a little shiver run through her as she met his vicious hating look. She knew then that he was bad—that he would always be bad. But he had shot de Babar, and that was enough for her to help him.