SON OF THE WIND
She reflected his returning rush of spirits with a wan, anxious smile. They looked at each other like people who feel themselves emerging from a chasm of dangers safe into the air. With an impetuousness that was her daughter's she took him by the sleeve. "Come; tell her what you have told me; make her see it as you have shown me."
He held back. "What are you talking about?"
Still anxious, but with a rising confidence, she supported his look. "Why, when George came back he didn't come to me—he went to her. I thought you understood, she knows about it. I didn't want to tell you at first, but of course she is the only one who can understand him."
Carron's knees felt loosened. A faint cold breath seemed to run through his veins. He was not aware of speaking, or of even wanting to speak, but he heard a voice sounding too high and complaining to be his own which yet was moving his own throat. "Now in the name of what made you meddle in my affairs!"
"It was her affair too! If you had told me! But what difference does it make now?" She looked ready to laugh at him. "You will have to make her believe you love her; and she will believe you, she must believe you."
"But she knows it now!"
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