"
"Hush! now it is you who're just talking!" I replied.
"You're jealous!"
"By God, yes. I _am_ jealous, though I suppose I ought to be ashamed of
it."
* * * * *
She sat in bed, propped up with pillows. She had been reading
Shakespeare's sonnets aloud to me. The big green-shaded reading lamp
cast a dim light that pervaded the room.
She reached out both arms to me, the wide sleeves falling back from
them, and showing their feminine whiteness....
I sat down beside her, caught her to me, kissed her till she was
breathless....
"There ... there ... please! _Please!_"
"What! you're not tiring of my kisses?"
"No, dearest boy, but I have a curious feeling, I tell you ... maybe
we're being watched...."
"Nonsense ... he believes I told him the truth."
And I caught her in my arms again, half-reclining on the bed.
"Sh!" she flung me off with a sudden impulse of frightened strength, "I
hear someone."
"It's only the wind."
"Quick!... my God!"--
* * * * *
I snatched up a volume of Keats. It fell open at "St. Agnes Eve." I
hurled myself into a chair ... gathering my breath I began aloud, as
naturally as I could--
"St. Agnes' Eve! ah, bitter chill it was;
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold--"
At that very instant, Penton burst in at the door.
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