"Stop kissing me. I can't think when you
kiss me, I can only feel you be close. If you want to hear about that news,
that is," she adds, her lips hardly moving.
All that Oliver wants to do is to hold her and be quiet--to make out of
the stuffy room, the nervous rushing of noise under the window, the air
exhausted with heat, a place in some measure peaceful, in some measure
retired, where they can lie under lucent peace for a moment as shells lie
in clear water and not be worried about anything any more. But again, the
time they are to have is too short--Oliver really must be back Monday
afternoon--already he is unpleasantly conscious of the time-table part of
his mind talking trains at him. He takes his arms from around Nancy--she
sits up rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as if to take the
dream that was so glittering in them away now she and Oliver have to talk
business-affairs.
"Oh, my _hair_--lucky it's bobbed, that's all--I'd have lost all the
hairpins I ever had in it by now--Well, Ollie--"
Her hand goes over to his uneasily, takes hold. For a moment the dream
comes back and she forgets entirely what she was going to say.
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