"Oh, I do—I do——"
"I don't care." The boy's voice sounded light and dry, like his laugh. "I don't care. Kiss me."
"I won't! I won't! I'll never speak to you again. I'll never forgive you."
"Lying to me—fooling me; taking me up and dropping me like Everard does to women.... You're no better than he is. You're one of his crowd, but you're through with them.... Lying to me, when you do care. You do."
"I hate you!"
"Ah, no, you don't."
Little bursts of confused speech, all they had breath for and more, disconnected, not always understood, not always articulate, but always angry, came from them, with intervals of silent, panting struggle between. The two young creatures in the buggy were struggling in earnest now. The struggle was clumsy, like most really significant ones; sudden and clumsy and blind. The two figures swayed aimlessly back and forth. The boy and girl were both on their feet now. The boy had dropped the reins. Both arms held the girl. Her pinioned arms fought to free themselves.
"Judith, you don't hate me. Say it—say it."
