Naïve instinct––the emotionless curiosity of total inexperience––everything embryonic and innocently ruthless in her was now in the ascendant.
She lifted her eyes and considered him with the speculative candour of a child. She wished to hear once more that unfamiliar something in his voice––see it in his features–––
And she did not know how to evoke it.
“Of what are you thinking, Palla?”
“Of you,” she answered candidly, without other intention than the truth. And saw, instantly, the indefinable something born again into his eyes.
Calm curiosity, faintly amused, possessed her––left him possessed of her hand presently.
“Are you attempting to be sentimental?” she asked.
Very leisurely she began once more to disengage her hand––loosening the fingers one by one––and watching him all the while with a slight smile edging her lips. Then, as his clasp tightened:
“Please,” she said, “may I not have my freedom?”