Laughing, she looked down into his eyes. Then she
leaped. Her breast came against his; he held her, and covered her face
with kisses.
They went on up the slippery, steep red path. Presently she released his
hand and put it round her waist.
"You press the vein in my arm, holding it so tightly," she said.
They walked along. His finger-tips felt the rocking of her breast. All
was silent and deserted. On the left the red wet plough-land showed
through the doorways between the elm-boles and their branches. On the
right, looking down, they could see the tree-tops of elms growing far
beneath them, hear occasionally the gurgle of the river. Sometimes
there below they caught glimpses of the full, soft-sliding Trent, and of
water-meadows dotted with small cattle.
"It has scarcely altered since little Kirke White used to come," he
said.
But he was watching her throat below the ear, where the flush was
fusing into the honey-white, and her mouth that pouted disconsolate. She
stirred against him as she walked, and his body was like a taut string.
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