“Now, you're cheating again. You knew well enough the door was locked.”
“Oh, must you always think the worst of me? But why should he lock the door so carefully and have the place all to himself? Yes, I did know it was locked, and that's why I came with you. I dare not. No, Hugo, I won't, I mean it. Oh, are you mad? Come back!”
She took his hand again and tried to turn back; they stood struggling a little, for he would not follow. Then in his passion and strength he threw both arms round her and kissed her again and again. And she weakened ever more and more, speaking brokenly between the kisses:
“I've never kissed any other man before—never! It's true—I swear it. I've never kissed....”
“No, no, no,” he answers impatiently, drawing her step by step the way he will.
Outside the summer-house he looses his hold of her a moment, flings himself, one shoulder forward, heavily against the door, and breaks it open for the second time. Then in one stride he is beside her once more. Neither speaks.
But even at the door, she checks again—stands clinging to the door-post, and will not move.
“No, no, I've never been unfaithful to him yet. I won't; I've never—never....”
He draws her to him suddenly, kisses her a full minute, two minutes, a deep, unbroken kiss; she leans back from the waist, her hand slips where it holds, and she gives way....
A white mist gathers before my eyes. So ... they have come to it now. Now he takes her, has his will and joy of her....