Taine to the
studio.
Just inside the door, she turned impulsively to face him--standing close,
her beautifully groomed and voluptuous body instinct with the lure of her
sex, her too perfect features slightly flushed, and her eyes submissively
downcast. "And have you forgotten that this is the last time I can come?"
she asked in a low tone.
"Surely not"--he returned calmly--"you are coming to-morrow, with the
others, aren't you?" Her husband with James Rutlidge and Louise Taine were
invited for the next day, to view the portrait.
"Oh, but that will be so different!" She loosed the wrap she wore, and
threw it aside with an indescribable familiar gesture. "You don't realize
what these hours have meant to me--how could you? You do not live in my
world. Your world is--is so different You do not know--you do not know."
With a sudden burst of passion, she added, "The world that I live in is
hell; and this--this--oh, it has been heavenly!"
Her words, her voice, the poise of her figure, the gesture with
outstretched arms--it was all so nearly an invitation, so nearly a
surrender of herself to him, that the man started forward impulsively.
For the moment he forgot his work--he forgot everything--he was conscious
only of the woman who stood before him.
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