"You mean you aren't going to miss me when I'm gone?"
"Yes, I'll miss you."
"I'm going to miss you an awful lot," he said huskily. "You going to write to me?"
"Yes, I'll write if you will."
"You aren't going to forget me—you aren't going to get to going with anybody else—are you?"
She could not answer. The trembling that shook them carried them beyond speech. Wind and darkness melted together in a rushing flood around them. The ache in her throat dissolved into tears, and they clung together, cheek against hot cheek, in voiceless misery.
"Oh, Helen! Oh, Helen!" She was crushed against the beating of his heart, his arms hurt her. She wanted them to hurt her. "You're so—you're so—sweet!" he stammered, and gropingly they found each other's lips.
Words came back to her after a time.
"I don't want you to go away," she sobbed.
His arms tightened around her, then slowly relaxed. His chin lifted, and she knew that his mouth was setting into its firm lines again.