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AN ARROW FROM GOD
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“Why, I don’t believe you do, I believe you like me like this—so that you can lay me down and smooth me—don’t you, quiet girl?”
“When you’re good.”
“Ah, well, in a month I shall be strong, and we’ll be married and go to Switzerland—do you hear, Schnucke—you won’t be able to be naughty any more then. Oh—do you want to go away from me again?”
“No—only my arm is dead,” she drew it from beneath him, standing up, swinging it, smiling because it hurt her.
“Oh, my darling—what a shame! oh, I am a brute, a kiddish brute. I wish I was strong again, Lettie, and didn’t do these things.”
“You boy—it’s nothing.” She smiled at him again.
