movement; he could feel, through her chemise, the rise and fall of her breast, and its soft warmth against his cheeks. He felt his breath failing him.
“You silly boy!” Drawing back, she hid her breast with her bare arm. “It’s seeing that, is it, that makes you go all funny! Why, I’d never have believed it of you—at your age! By the by, how old are you?”
The lie came out automatically after his practice during the past two days.
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” She sounded surprised.
She had taken his hand and was examining it absent-mindedly. Pushing back the sleeve, she uncovered his arm.
“My word, the kid’s skin is as white as a girl’s,” she smiled.
She had raised the boy’s wrist and was fondling his hand with her cheek. The smile died from her face. Taking a deep breath, she dropped his hand. Before he realized what she was doing, she had unfastened her skirt.
“I’m cold. Warm me up!” she whispered, slipping between the blankets.
Jacques had slept badly under the tarpaulin stiffened by the cold rain. Before dawn he had crept from his hiding-place and begun to wander aimlessly in the dim light of daybreak. “It’s certain,” he mused, “that if Daniel’s free, he’ll have the idea of going to the station buffet as we did yesterday.” He was there, himself, before five o’clock. At six he still could not make up his mind where to go.
What was he to think? What should he do? He ascertained where the prison was. Sick at heart, he hardly dared to raise his eyes to the closed entrance-gate: CITY JAIL.
There, perhaps, Daniel … He dared not complete the thought. He walked all round the endless wall, stepped back to judge the height of the barred windows; then, seized with sudden fear, he fled.
All that morning he scoured the town. The sun was blazing hot and the bright colours of the linen hanging out to dry made the crowded streets seem gay with bunting. On doorsteps gossips laughed and chattered in acrimonious tones. The sights of the street, its freedom and adventurous possibilities, gave him a brief exhilaration. But at once his thoughts harked back to Daniel. He held the bottle of iodine clutched in his hand, deep down in his pocket; if he did not find Daniel before night, he would kill himself. He swore it, raising his voice a little to bind himself more strongly; inwardly he wondered if he would have the necessary courage.
It was not till nearly eleven, when he was passing for the hundredth time in front of the cafe where, the evening before, they had asked the way to the shipping office, that—yes, there he was!
Jacques charged down on him between the tables and chairs lining the terrace. Daniel, more self-controlled, had risen.
“Steady there!”
People were staring at them. They shook hands, Daniel paid, and, leaving the cafe, they turned down the nearest side-street. Then Jacques clutched his friend’s arm and, clinging to him, hugged him passionately. Suddenly he began to sob, his forehead pressed to Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel was not crying, but he was very pale. He walked steadily on, his gaze untender and focused far ahead, but he was pressing Jacques’s small hand to his side. His upper lip, drawn back across his teeth on one side of his mouth, was trembling.
Jacques described his adventures. “Just think, I slept on the quay like a thief, under a tarpaulin! What about you?”
Daniel was embarrassed. His respect for his friend and for their friendship was immense; yet now, for the first time, he was bound to conceal something from Jacques, something of vital importance. The enormity of the secret that had come between them overpowered him. He was on the point of letting himself go, of telling everything; but no, he could not. He remained ill at ease and tongue-tied, unable to expel the haunting memory of all that had befallen him.
“What about you?” Jacques repeated. “Where did you spend the night?”
Daniel made a vague gesture. “On a seat, over
“You silly boy!” Drawing back, she hid her breast with her bare arm. “It’s seeing that, is it, that makes you go all funny! Why, I’d never have believed it of you—at your age! By the by, how old are you?”
The lie came out automatically after his practice during the past two days.
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” She sounded surprised.
She had taken his hand and was examining it absent-mindedly. Pushing back the sleeve, she uncovered his arm.
“My word, the kid’s skin is as white as a girl’s,” she smiled.
She had raised the boy’s wrist and was fondling his hand with her cheek. The smile died from her face. Taking a deep breath, she dropped his hand. Before he realized what she was doing, she had unfastened her skirt.
“I’m cold. Warm me up!” she whispered, slipping between the blankets.
Jacques had slept badly under the tarpaulin stiffened by the cold rain. Before dawn he had crept from his hiding-place and begun to wander aimlessly in the dim light of daybreak. “It’s certain,” he mused, “that if Daniel’s free, he’ll have the idea of going to the station buffet as we did yesterday.” He was there, himself, before five o’clock. At six he still could not make up his mind where to go.
What was he to think? What should he do? He ascertained where the prison was. Sick at heart, he hardly dared to raise his eyes to the closed entrance-gate: CITY JAIL.
There, perhaps, Daniel … He dared not complete the thought. He walked all round the endless wall, stepped back to judge the height of the barred windows; then, seized with sudden fear, he fled.
All that morning he scoured the town. The sun was blazing hot and the bright colours of the linen hanging out to dry made the crowded streets seem gay with bunting. On doorsteps gossips laughed and chattered in acrimonious tones. The sights of the street, its freedom and adventurous possibilities, gave him a brief exhilaration. But at once his thoughts harked back to Daniel. He held the bottle of iodine clutched in his hand, deep down in his pocket; if he did not find Daniel before night, he would kill himself. He swore it, raising his voice a little to bind himself more strongly; inwardly he wondered if he would have the necessary courage.
It was not till nearly eleven, when he was passing for the hundredth time in front of the cafe where, the evening before, they had asked the way to the shipping office, that—yes, there he was!
Jacques charged down on him between the tables and chairs lining the terrace. Daniel, more self-controlled, had risen.
“Steady there!”
People were staring at them. They shook hands, Daniel paid, and, leaving the cafe, they turned down the nearest side-street. Then Jacques clutched his friend’s arm and, clinging to him, hugged him passionately. Suddenly he began to sob, his forehead pressed to Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel was not crying, but he was very pale. He walked steadily on, his gaze untender and focused far ahead, but he was pressing Jacques’s small hand to his side. His upper lip, drawn back across his teeth on one side of his mouth, was trembling.
Jacques described his adventures. “Just think, I slept on the quay like a thief, under a tarpaulin! What about you?”
Daniel was embarrassed. His respect for his friend and for their friendship was immense; yet now, for the first time, he was bound to conceal something from Jacques, something of vital importance. The enormity of the secret that had come between them overpowered him. He was on the point of letting himself go, of telling everything; but no, he could not. He remained ill at ease and tongue-tied, unable to expel the haunting memory of all that had befallen him.
“What about you?” Jacques repeated. “Where did you spend the night?”
Daniel made a vague gesture. “On a seat, over
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