Under cover of the noise made by the other two dragging their chairs up, Gurney slipped into the house. He knew Myra’s room. He opened the door and put his head round. Myra was painting her lips. She had put on a pair of white step-ins. She jerked round, seeing his face in the fly-blown mirror.
“You get out!” she said.
Gurney found his mouth suddenly dry. He stepped in and shut the door, putting his back against the panels. Gurney was big. He had a bent nose and a big slit of a mouth. His eyes were always a little shifty. He dressed in a loud, flashy way, wearing black suits with a yellow or pink stripe. His shirts were mostly red or yellow cotton. He thought he was a swell dresser.
Myra, suddenly anxious, said, “Nick…. blow the old man won’t stand for it… please.”
Gurney came round the bed and reached out for her. She skipped away, her eyes suddenly large and scared. “If you don’t get out, I’ll yell,” she said.
“Aw, honey, that ain’t the way to talk…. Gurney was crowding her the whole time. “You’re lookin’ swell. I ain’t goin’ to start anythin’, honest.” His hand touched her arm, and she suddenly felt weak. She said feebly, “Don’t, Nick, the old man’ll kill me—”
Gurney said, “Don’t worry about him.” He pulled her into his arms, his hands burning on her cool flesh.
White-hot desire for him stabbed her, gripping her inside with iron fingers. She searched for his mouth with hers, gripping him round the neck, half strangling him. Gurney grinned to himself. He said to her, “I’m comin’ out to see you one night soon. You’re goin’ to like that, ain’t that right?”
Outside on the verandah, Butch punched and pummeled Sankey. Sankey stood there, with his head on his chest, like a horse on the way to the knacker’s.
Butch said, “He’s all right, ain’t he?” He said it anxiously, looking in Hank’s direction.