"I'm not the
same man I was a week ago. Nor an hour ago. What does it matter
~ I am--the man I am NOW." He looked at her more calmly. "An
hour ago," he pointed out, "I didn't dream I should kiss you.
Nor you, that you would let me do it."
"I didn't! I couldn't help myself. You--oh, I never saw such
a--a brute!" The tears in her eyes were, perhaps, tears of rage
at the swiftness with which he had mastered the situation and
turned it in a breath from the safe channel of petty argument.
She struck Huckleberry a blow with her whip which sent that
astonished animal galloping down the slope before them, his ears
laid back and his white eyelashes blinking resentment against the
outrage.
Good Indian laughed aloud, spurred Keno into a run, and passed
her with a scurry of dust, a flash of white teeth and laughing
black eyes, and a wave of his free hand in adieu. He was still
laughing when he overtook the others, passed by the main group,
and singled out Jack, his particular chum.
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