Nearer, nearer, circling and darting and swooping--the gigantic
humming grew louder--louder still--it swept about her thunderously,
so close that she clapped her hands over her ears, but she stood her
ground, exultant and undaunted. Oh, louder still--and then suddenly
the storm broke. All the winds and the rains of the world were
unleashed, and fell howling and shrieking upon her, she staggered
under their onslaught, drenched to the bone, her dress whipping
frantically about her, blinded and deafened by that tumultuous
clamour. She had only one weapon against it--laughter--and she
laughed now--straight into its teeth. And as though hell itself must
yield to mirth, the fury wavered--failed--sank to muttering. But
Janie, beaten to her knees and laughing, never even heard it die.
"Jerry?" she whispered into the darkness, "Jerry?"
Oh, more wonderful than wonder, he was there! She could feel him stir,
even if she could not hear him--so close, so close was he that if she
even reached out her hand, she could touch him. She stretched it out
eagerly, but there was nothing there--only a small, remote sound of
withdrawal, as though some one had moved a little.
"You're afraid that I'll be frightened, aren't you?" she asked
wistfully.
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