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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"The Rustlers of Pecos County"

She felt my distress, and that growing,
stern, and powerful thing I scarcely dared to acknowledge to myself.
Strangely, then, I relaxed and faced her. There was no use trying to
foil these feminine creatures. Every second I seemed to grow farther
from her. The swiftness of this mood of mine was my only hope. I
realized I had to get away quickly, and make up my mind after that what
I intended to do. It was an earnest, soulful, and loving pair of eyes
that I met. What did she read in mine? Her hands left mine to slide to
my shoulders, to slip behind my neck, to lock there like steel bands.
Here was my ordeal. Was it to be as terrible as Steele's had been? I
thought it would be, and I swore by all that was rising grim and cold in
me that I would be strong. Sally gave a little cry that cut like a blade
in my heart, and then she was close-pressed upon me, her quivering
breast beating against mine, her eyes, dark as night now, searching my
soul.
She saw more than I knew, and with her convulsive clasp of me confirmed
my half-formed fears. Then she kissed me, kisses that had no more of
girlhood or coquetry or joy or anything but woman's passion to blind and
hold and tame. By their very intensity I sensed the tiger in me.


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