“I covered it with sand,” he replied.
“Would it have—bitten me?”
“No. Not unless you grasped it.”
Slowly she recovered and, letting go of him, leaned back in the seat. Crystal beads of sweat stood out upon her white brow. Her hair was wet. Her sensitive lips quivered.
“I’ve a perfect horror of mice, bugs, snakes, spiders—anything that crawls,” she said. “I can’t restrain it. I inherited it from my mother.... And what has mind got to do with most of a woman’s feelings? Virey has finally found that out.”
“Virey!... What do you mean?” rejoined Adam.
“I was leaning back here on the bench when suddenly I heard Virey slipping up behind me. I knew he was up to something. But I wouldn’t turn to see what. Then with two sticks he held the tarantula out over me—almost in my face. I screamed. I seemed to freeze inside. He dropped the tarantula in my lap.... Then all went black.”
“Where—is he now?” asked Adam, finding it difficult to speak.
“He’s in the shack.”
Adam made a giant stride in that direction, only to be caught and detained by her clinging hands. Earnestly she gazed up at him, with melancholy, searching eyes.