He too flushed. "It's life and death to me, Sylvie," he pleaded.
"Life and death--life _or_ death," she repeated strangely. She stood,
as if turning the speech over in her mind, then gave her head a quick
little shake like a diver coming to the surface of deep water, and
moved a step toward Pete. "Are you coming, boy, or not? I want to
feel your face."
"Do as she says," Hugh commanded harshly, and Pete came slowly to
her and stood with his hands locked behind him, bending over the
little figure. She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a
shake, and smiled.
"Such a big, strong boy! Where's your face?" It winced and paled under
her touch. His eyes fell, shifted, could not meet Hugh's, who watched
with unsteady breathing and white lips.
"Your face is as smooth as a girl's, Pete. What a wide, low forehead
and crisp, short hair; it ripples back from your temples. You must
be a pretty boy! A neat nose and a round, hard chin and--oh, Pete,
Pete! I believe you have a dimple. How absurd! A great, long dimple
like a slit in your right cheek. Why do you blink your eyes so?
They're long eyes, with thick, short lashes. What a strong, round
neck! I think I like your face.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98