ETHAN FROME
twisting away from her in his chair: "It'll be your turn next, I wouldn't wonder."
She laughed a little uncertainly. "Why do you keep on saying that?"
He echoed her laugh. "I guess I do it to get used to the idea."
He drew up to the table again and she sewed on in silence, with dropped lashes, while he sat in fascinated contemplation of the way in which her hands went up and down above the strip of stuff, just as he had seen a pair of birds make short perpendicular flights over a nest they were building. At length, without turning her head or lifting her lids, she said in a low tone: "It's not because you think Zeena's got anything against me, is it?"
His former dread started up full-armed at the suggestion. "Why, what do you mean?" he stammered.
She raised distressed eyes to his, her work dropping on the table between them. "I don't know. I thought last night she seemed to have."
"I'd like to know what," he growled.
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