This peace was of his own substance.
It was rudely shattered. On the night following the dance Cad Sills put
herself in his path for the second time and this time she gave him short
shrift. He was pushing forward, near sundown, to take the impulse of an
eddy at the edge of Pull-an'-be-Damned when he saw that predatory,
songful woman balanced knee-deep in rushing water, her arms tossing.
"She's drowning herself after her quarrel with Sam Dreed," was his first
thought. He had just heard a fine tale of that quarrel. The truth was
not quite so bold. She had been caught by the tide, which, first peering
over the rim of that extended flat, had then shot forth a frothy tongue,
and in a twinkling lapped her up.
Jethro presently brought up the webs of his two thumbs hard at her
armpits, and took her into his boat, dripping.
"She's not so plump as she was ashore," he said to himself with a vague
astonishment. She was as lean as a man at the hips, and finned away like
a mermaid, as became a daughter of the Old Roke.
"Steady now, my girl--. Heave and away."
There they stood confronting each other. Enraptured, life given into her
hand again, Cad Sills flung her arms about his neck and kissed him--a
moist, full-budded, passionate, and salty kiss. Even on the edge of
doom, it was plain, she would not be able to modulate, tone, or contain
these kisses, each of which launched a fiery barb into the recipient's
bosom.
Pages:
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338