"
"They teach courage," Peter answered gravely. "And that's about the only
thing we're here to learn, I expect. My mother died because she wasn't
brave enough and I want ... I want...."
He broke off--"There's only one thing I want and that's you, Clare. You
must have known all these weeks that I love you. I've loved you ever since
I met you that Good Friday afternoon years ago. Let me take care of you,
see that no one hurts you--love you ... love you--"
"Do you really want me, Peter?"
He didn't speak but his whole body turned towards her, answered her
question.
"Because I am yours entirely. I became yours that day when your hand
touched mine. I wasn't sure before--I knew then--"
He looked at her. He saw her, he thought for the first time. She sat with
her hands pressing on the grass, her body bent back a little.
The curve from her neck to her feet was like the shadow of some colour
against the brown earth because he saw her only dimly. Her hair burnt
against the blue sky but her eyes--her eyes! His gaze caught hers and he
surrendered himself to that tenderness, that mystery, that passion that she
flung about him. In her eyes he saw what only a lover can see--the terror
and the splendour of a soul surprised for the first time into love. She was
caught, she was trapped, she was gorgeously delivered. In her eyes he saw
that he had her in the hollow of his hand and that she was glad to be
there.
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