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Amory, Son of Beatrice
SuddenrevulsionseizedAmory,disgust,loathingforthewholeincident.Hedesiredfranticallytobeaway,nevertoseeMyraagain,nevertokissanyone;hebecameconsciousofhisfaceandhers,oftheirclinginghands,andhewantedtocreepoutofhisbodyandhidesomewheresafeoutofsight,upinthecornerofhismind.
"Kissmeagain."Hervoicecameoutofagreatvoid.
"Idon’twantto,"heheardhimselfsaying.Therewasanotherpause.
"Idon’twantto!"herepeatedpassionately.
Myrasprangup,hercheekspinkwithbruisedvanity,thegreatbowonthebackofherheadtremblingsympathetically.
"Ihateyou!"shecried."Don’tyoueverdaretospeaktomeagain!"
"What?"stammeredAmory.
"I’lltellmamayoukissedme!Iwilltoo!Iwilltoo!I’lltellmama,andshewon’tletmeplaywithyou!"
Amoryroseandstaredatherhelplessly,asthoughshewereanewanimalofwhosepresenceontheearthhehadnotheretoforebeenaware.
Thedooropenedsuddenly,andMyra’smotherappearedonthethreshold,fumblingwithherlorgnette.
"Well,"shebegan,adjustingitbenignantly,"themanatthedesktoldmeyoutwochildrenwereuphere—Howdoyoudo,Amory."
AmorywatchedMyraandwaitedforthecrash—butnonecame.Thepoutfaded,thehighpinksubsided,andMyra’svoicewasplacidasasummerlakewhensheansweredhermother.