Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. The child was still safe. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. . I die happy—quite happy in beholding you. If he decided to watch television upstairs with his mother, she would probably retire before he did, but she was a light sleeper. The first peg was torture. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. She felt his whole mind sounding in ecstasy. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist.
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