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Woodrow, Nancy Mann Waddel, 1870-1935

"The Black Pearl"

Thus she stood for one
fleeting second, holding him with her smile, her whole being seeming to
rush out and meet and encompass him and embrace him. Then her eyelashes
drooped long and black on her cheek, and her face was all aflame with
color.
He stood still a second, breathing hard. Then from the shadow he hurled
himself into that zone of glowing firelight where she stood. A white
flame passed over his face and lighted his eyes with that burning,
incandescent glow that only those cold, blue eyes can show. Primeval,
all preliminary bowing and scraping in the minuet of wooing ignored, he
saw his heart's desire and seized it, lifting the Pearl in his arms,
crushing her against his breast, until she, dazed for the moment, lay
captured and captive.
But her second of surprised, involuntary non-resistance served her well.
Harry looked into her eyes and forgot his vigilance; and with a twist
Pearl slipped through his arms and was across the room. She stood
against the wall of the cabin, her head thrown back, a smile on her
white lips, her eyes daring him.
Seagreave took no dares. It was a part of his creed. He was across the
room in a step, his arms outstretched as if to clasp her.
But Pearl held him with her eyes until at least she covered her face
with her hands and wept and leaned toward him, and again Seagreave
caught her in his arms with a murmur of passionate and inarticulate
words. "I love you, I love you," he whispered, his lips seeking hers.


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