They were both out of breath, like boxers during an interval. Irene shook out her hair and put it up again; her whole face shone from the frame of her thick mane, which looked as if it was modelled in lead: it altered her whole being: she was even more her own self.
"Naturally," said Lewis, "we shall never meet again after this."
"Why not? I'm not frightened of you."
She was bubbling over with emotion.
"You're not frightened either of telling me that you are attracted to me a little?"
"No."
"You're not angry with me?"
"I'm angry with myself for standing here calmly like this."
"Cut your hair off."
"Never."