“Kiss me first, then, so I can listen right. Say, I can’t listen, I can’t think till—till you kiss me.”
The man was beside himself. The whole expression of his face had transformed. It was rather terrible. The hot blood was madly surging to his head, and veins were standing out on his forehead. He watched her devouringly.
The girl understood. And curiously there was no responsive feeling in her. It was as if something she saw in him reacted adversely. Her own passions were for once quiescent in proportion to the extravagance of his. She turned to the stove.
“Quit fool’ry, I tell you,” she said, so coldly that Sinclair grew angrily calm. “What sort o’ man are you anyway? Can’t you quit that sort of thing when—when we got business to fix? I tell you I got what you need, an’ I’ll go clear through with it. But you can’t get it till you quit foolin’. An’ you can’t get it till you swear before God you’ll marry me right away when it’s thro’.”
For some moments the man stood a prey to the madness of his passions. For a while desire set him yearning to lay violent hands on the beautiful creature who so furiously inflamed him. Then, at last, the cold stare of the girl’s eyes reduced him to sanity. But it was a surly sort of sanity.
“You’re a cool devil, Annette,” he sneered. Then he tried to laugh. “Go right on,” he added sharply.
Annette stared down at the stove.
“You swear ’fore God?”
The man made no answer. And Annette shook her head.
“You got to hand me that,” she insisted.