And suddenly I realized that I didn't want her to. But she was not
Dallisa and she could not sit in cold dignity while her world fell into
ruin. Miellyn must fight for the one she wanted.
And then some of that primitive male hostility which lives in every man
came to the surface, and I gripped her arm until she whimpered. Then I
said, in the Shainsan which still comes to my tongue when moved or
angry, "Damn it, you're _going_. Have you forgotten that if it weren't
for me you'd have been torn to pieces by that raving mob, or something
worse?"
That did it. She pulled away and I saw again, beneath the veneer of
petulant coquetry, that fierce and untamable insolence of the
Dry-towner. The more fierce and arrogant, in this girl, because she had
burst her fettered hands free and shaken off the ruin of the past.
I was seized with a wildly inappropriate desire to seize her, crush her
in my arms, taste the red honey of that teasing mouth. The effort of
mastering the impulse made me rough.
I shoved at her and said, "Come on.
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