'Do take your coat off, Dan,' she said, and she took hold of the breast
of his coat, trying to push it back over his shoulder. But she could not.
Only the stare in his eyes changed to a glare as her hand moved over his
shoulder. He looked down into her eyes. She became pale, rather
frightened-looking, and she turned her face away, and it was drawn
slightly with love and fear and misery. She tried again to put off his
coat, her thin wrists pulling at it. He stood solidly planted, and did
not look at her, but stared straight in front. She was playing with
passion, afraid of it, and really wretched because it left her, the
person, out of count. Yet she continued. And there came into his bearing,
into his eyes, the curious smile of passion, pushing away even the
death-horror. It was life stronger than death in him. She stood close to
his breast. Their eyes met, and she was carried away.
'Take your coat off, Dan,' she said coaxingly, in a low tone meant for no
one but him. And she slid her hands on his shoulder, and he yielded, so
that the coat was pushed back. She had flushed, and her eyes had grown
very bright. She got hold of the cuff of his coat. Gently, he eased
himself, so that she drew it off. Then he stood in a thin suit, which
revealed his vigorous, almost mature form.
'What a weight!' she exclaimed, in a peculiar penetrating voice, as she
went out hugging the overcoat.
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