He stood aside to let her pass, but as she reached him she swayed and would have fallen fainting to the floor but for his arms.
He caught her and held her as if she had been a child Her eyes were closed, and her face and lips quite colorless.
262 Feathers put her down in the shabby armchair in which Chris had so often sat and grumble and tried to force water between her lips.
Her hat had fallen off, and there was an ugly bruise on her forehead where last night she had fallen against the window sill. It stood out painfully against the whiteness of her skin.
And suddenly Feathers' strength gave way. He gathered her into his arms as if he could never let her go. He kissed her hair and the ugly bruise that had broken him down. He kissed her hands and the unconscious face that rested against his shabby coat.
For a moment at least she was his—even if in all his life he never saw her again.
Even Samson was robbed of his strength by a woman.
And even as he held her Feathers felt her stir in his arms, and the fluttering of her breath, and he released her a little, watching the color creep back to her face with passionate eyes.
Then her lids lifted, and she saw him bending over her.
She struggled free of him and sat up, pushing the dark hair from her forehead. She tried to remember what had happened, but it only came back to her slowly and with difficulty; then she made a movement to rise to her feet.