Then he bent down and suddenly kissed her unhappy face.
“Nay, I don’t care,” he said. “Let’s have it, an’ damn the rest. But if you was to feel sorry you’d ever done it!”
“Don’t put me off,” she pleaded.
He put his fingers to her cheek and kissed her again suddenly.
“Let me come in then,” he said softly. “An’ take off your mackintosh.”
He hung up his gun, slipped out of his wet leather jacket, and reached for the blankets.
“I brought another blanket,” he said, “so we can put one over us if we like.”
“I can’t stay long,” she said. “Dinner is half-past seven.”
He looked at her swiftly, then at his watch.
“All right,” he said.
He shut the door, and lit a tiny light in the hanging hurricane lamp.
“One time we’ll have a long time,” he said.
He put the blankets down carefully, one folded for her head. Then he sat down a moment on the stool, and drew her to him, holding her close with one arm, feeling for her body with his free hand. She heard the catch of his intaken breath as he found her.