"You're a deep one," he said. And as he turned to the pile of correspondence she heard him sigh. He began to dictate. She took down his sentences automatically, scarcely knowing what she was writing; he was making love to her as intensely as though his words had been the absolute expression of his desire instead of the commonplace mediums of commercial intercourse. Presently he stopped and began fumbling in one of the drawers of his desk.
"Where is the memorandum I made last week for Percy and Company?"
"Isn't it there?" she asked.
But he continued to fumble, running through the papers and disarranging them until she could stand it no longer.
"You never know where to find anything," she declared, rising and darting around the desk and bending over the drawer, her deft fingers rapidly separating the papers. She drew forth the memorandum triumphantly.
"There!" she exclaimed. "It was right before your eyes."
As she thrust it at him his hand closed over hers. She felt him drawing her, irresistibly.
"Janet!" he said. "For God's sake—you're killing me—don't you know it?
I can't stand it any longer!"
"Don't!" she whispered, terror-stricken, straining away from him. "Mr.
Ditmar—let me go!"
A silent struggle ensued, she resisting him with all the aroused strength and fierceness of her nature. He kissed her hair, her neck,—she had never imagined such a force as this, she felt herself weakening, welcoming the annihilation of his embrace.