forgotten scenes in Nova Scotia. Another decision was taken: he must one day revisit Hale's Turning.
The girl seemed to be fascinated by his abstracted air, all the while resenting it. She repeatedly tried to draw his attention towards herself, and it repeatedly strayed. Mechanically, yet with a definitely tender instinct, he had placed his arm about her waist. She had at once pushed it away, but seemed complacently to expect his insistence, and when his arm was at last installed, a similar game of protest and acquiescence was gone through apropos of his kisses. In the end they returned silently, hand in hand, arms swinging. Just before reaching the gate, the girl stopped, peered up at him and waited. He took her in his arms, whilst she pretended to struggle. She broke away, ran a few steps, then stood facing him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. In a flash she was back again, hugging him and kissing his neck—then like a frightened, mischievous child she fled up the garden path.
Paul was suddenly aflame. He found it impossible to make conversation with the old man, and soon all three retired. In his room Paul listened to the others. The old man slept downstairs, the boy in the attic, and the girl occupied a room on the same floor as himself. Long after the men had settled for the night he could hear discreet sounds. His door was ajar, and he stood, holding his breath, whilst a fury of erotic desires possessed him. So far no woman who had thrown herself into his arms had escaped unscathed, but so far only women who were not immaculate had overtly challenged him. He had only to take a few steps, tap on her door, turn the handle—she would not cry out, for she was subtle, for all her uncouthness—and the rest he would know how to manage—but!
He closed the door swiftly and went to sit on the edge of his bed. He hated to be faced by a choice between
