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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Riders of the Silences"

She caught both his hands,
kissed them again and again, and then buried her face against them as
she sobbed. If the heavens had opened and a cloudburst crashed on the
roof of the house, he would have been less astounded.
"What is it?" he cried. "Damn it all--Jack--you see--I meant--"
But she tore herself away and flung herself face down on the bunk,
sobbing more bitterly than ever. He followed, awestricken--terrified.
He touched her shoulder, but she shrank away and seemed more
distressed than ever. It was not the crying of a weak woman: these
were heartrending sounds, like the sobbing of a man who has never
before known tears.
"Jack--perhaps I've done something wrong--"
He stammered again: "I didn't dream I was hurting you--"
Then light broke upon him.
He said: "It's because you don't want to be treated like a silly girl;
eh, Jack?"
But to complete his astonishment she moaned: "N-n-no! It's b-b-because
you--you n-n-never _do_ t-treat me like a g-g-girl, P-P-Pierre!"
He groaned heartily: "Well, I'll be damned!"
And because he was thoughtful he strode away, staring at the floor.


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