rain tapped with dismal insistency at the window. Neither of them heard. Dot turned and looked at Eddie. Her hand wandered to his and crawled under his cuff, snuggling warmly against his pulse.
"I have to touch you if you're going to lie there," she said.
He smiled and pulled her to him. Their mouths melted together. Dot felt his hand on her knee. It was indecent. She could not discourage it without shaking off his kiss, and the kiss was very sweet. She wondered: if her stockings were not rolled, would it be so awful? She did not try to stop him and discovered almost immediately that that was a mistake. At this stage of the game, silence was obviously encouragement.
"Eddie, don't. You mustn't."
She felt that there was no ring of conviction in her voice. Certainly there didn't appear to be.
"Dot!"
"What? What's the matter, Eddie?"
"Nothing. Just—Gee, don't this get you at all?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you feel that we—that there should be more?"
"Eddie!"
"Oh, I know I oughtn't to have said that, but, God! Dot, I'm a wreck. You see, I ain't used to stopping. Do you get what I mean?"
"Yes, I get it."
"Well, it looks like a kiss or so is all you want out of this thing. You're not upset if we stop after hot loving."
"Is that so?" asked Dot, unexpectedly.
"Are you? Do you feel that there should be more?"
He sat up suddenly on the edge of the bed and looked down at her with hope and incredulity mingled in his expression. She said nothing. She was thinking of what it would be like to be a bad girl. People would know about
