' I knit for knitting's sake; it keeps my hands busy while my--my
soul basks."
She looked up with a smile and Truedale saw that she was ill at ease. It
was the one thing that unnerved him. Had she been her old,
self-contained self he could have depended upon her to bear her part
while he eased his soul by burdening hers; but now he caught in her the
appealing tenderness that had always awakened in old William Truedale
the effort to save her from herself--from the cares others laid upon
her.
Conning, instead of plunging into his confession, looked at her in such
a protecting, yearning way that Lynda's eyes fell, and the soft colour
slowly crept in her cheeks.
In the stillness, that neither knew how to break, Truedale noticed the
gown Lynda wore. It was blue and clinging. The whiteness of her slim
arms showed through the loose sleeves; the round throat was bare and
girlish in its drooping curve.
For one mad moment Truedale tried to stifle his conscience. Why should
he not have this love and happiness that lay close to him? In what was
he different from the majority of men? Then he thought--as others before
him had thought--that, since the race must be preserved, the primal
impulses should not be denied. They outlived everything; they rallied
from shock--even death; they persisted until extinction; and here was
this sweet woman with all her gracious loveliness near him.
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