"Don't," he whispered. "I'll take care of you. I'm going to take care of you. Nobody's going to hurt you any more."
"Neil, I just didn't know. I didn't know."
"It's all right. I'm going to take you away. Just wait, dear. I'm going to take care of you."
He spoke to her softly, saying the same thing over and over, as if he were quieting a frightened child. She was quiet in his arms like a frightened and tired child in any arms held out to it. One arm had slipped round his neck and clung to him. She drew long choking breaths as if she were too tired to cry. Gradually they stopped, but the arm round his neck only clung tighter.
"Don't leave me," she whispered.
"No, I'm not going to. I'm going to take care of you. You know that, don't you, Judith?"
"Yes. Neil?"
"Yes, dear."
"Neil." Still in his arms, because she felt safe and protected there, Judith lifted her head and looked at him, and into her sweet, dazed eyes, full of a terror that she could not understand, came a faint flash of anger. This boy who held her so safe and comforted was her enemy, too. Long before the ugly accident of what had happened behind the library doors he had been her enemy, and he was her enemy now, though she needed his protection and took it. Their quarrel was not over.
"Neil, I don't forgive you. I'm never going to forgive you."