"Don't say dare," Jim Hewin said warmly, his left hand sliding
appraisingly up the bared softness of her right arm. "Plump, eh? Nice
piece of dark meat. I like you; I'll treat you right."
A gust of sudden fright, the blind fright of the female when her
well-ordered maiden state is first threatened, shook over her; her arm
lashed out impotently.
He stepped aside to avoid the blow.
"If you touch me ... I'll kill you...." Her words were gasps.
He held her arms again, pushing them behind her until her face was close
before his. "You black devil! I've a mind to----"
Then he pulled her closer, fastening his dry lips against her protesting
mouth. For a hushed second she took the unexpected caress quiescently;
then fought, kicked, scratched, to get away. He held her firmly, shaking
her until she ceased. Then he let her go.
She ran a few frightened steps, then turned in the dusky safety, facing
him. Her mind held only an outraged hate; her feelings quivered and
rioted in disquieting turmoil.
He smacked his lips broadly.
"You--you white trash----"
He faced her coldly. "When I want you,"--whistling, as though calling a
dog, he turned up toward the crest--"you'll come...."
Her heart panting in wrenching excitement, she listened to his
retreating steps. She stared, helplessly rooted in the accusing silence.
Her knees trembled; she waited to regain strength.
Then she moved heavily toward the house, entering by the rickety kitchen
steps in the rear.
With a child's helpless seeking, she walked down the hall. She must tell
her mother at once. She heard Stella's rocker moving monotonously on the
sagging front porch. A loose board squeaked in soothing rhythm.
Sharply she visualized the simple, wrinkled face.... It could never
understand....
She turned wearily into her own room, and threw herself face downward on
the bed. The loud pounding of her heart frightened her; she turned upon
her back, staring at the constricted darkness of the blank ceiling.