Come back to your own people; be a true
daughter of the Ry of Rys; live with your Romany chal. You will never be
at home anywhere else. It's in your bones; it's in your blood; it's
deeper than all. Here, now, come to me--my wife."
He flung the flap of the tent door across the opening, shutting out the
camp-fires and the people. "Here--now--come. Be mine while they sing."
For one swift moment the great passion and eloquence of the man lifted
her off her feet; for one instant the Romany in her triumphed, and a
thrill of passion passed through her, storming her senses, like a mist
shutting out all the rest of the world. This Romany was right; there was
in her the wild thing--the everlasting strain of race and years breaking
down all the defences which civilized life had built up within her. Just
for one instant so--and then there flashed before her a face with two
blind eyes.
Like a stream of ether playing upon warm flesh, making it icy cold, so
something of the ineradicable good in her swept like a frozen spray upon
the elements of emotion, and with both hands she made a gesture of
repulsion.
His eyes with their reddish glow burned nearer and nearer to her. He
bulked over her, driving her back against the couch by the tent wall.
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