The stillness was obtrusive here. Not
a leaf stirred. There was no one about. They might have been alone upon
some tropic peak.
"I--can't tell you, Frank." Her tone of blended longing and despair
caught at his heart.
Impetuously his arms went around her. "Dear," he said unsteadily. "Dear,
I want you.... Oh, Bertha, I've waited so long! I don't care any more if
you're rich ... I'm going to--you've got to promise...."
She tried to protest, to push him away; but Frank held her close. And,
after a moment, like a tired child's, her head lay quiet on his
shoulder; her arms stole round his neck; she began to weep softly.
* * * * *
The horror came at dawn.
Frank, startled from a late and restless slumber, thought that he was
being shaken or attacked by some intruder. He sprang up, sleepily
bewildered. The room rocked with a quick, sharp, jerking motion that was
strangely terrifying. There was a dull indescribable rumbling,
punctuated by a sound of falling things. A typewriter in one end of the
room went over on the floor. A shaving mug danced on the shelf and fell.
The windows rattled and a picture on the wall swayed drunkenly.
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