She may have had a prevision of
the need of support. "I hardly think," she said, drawing the long breath
with which we try to subdue a tempest within, "that it would take so
long." She tried to look at him, but her eyes would not carry above the
violets in his button-hole.
"I've had a supreme experience," he said, "very strange and very lovely.
I am living in it, moving in it, speaking in it," he added quickly,
watching her face; "so don't, for God's sake, touch it roughly."
She lifted her hand in nervous, involuntary deprecation. "Why should you
suppose I would touch it roughly?" There was that in her voice which
cried put that she would rather not touch it at all; but Lindsay, on the
brink of his confidence, could not suppose it--did not hear it. He knew
her so well.
"A great many people will," he said. "I can't bear the thought of their
fingers. That is one reason that brings me to you."
She faced him fully at this; her eyelids quivered, but she looked
straight at him. It nerved her to be brought into his equation, even in
the form which should finally be eliminated. She contrived a smile.
"I believe you know already," Lindsay cried.
"I have heard something.
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