" Feather felt this at once silly and boring. What did he
know about such matters?
"The child said, 'Andrews will pinch me!' and I caught Andrews' eye
and knew it was true--also that she had done it before. I looked
at the woman's long, thin, strong fingers. They were cruel fingers.
I do not take liberties, as a rule, but I took a liberty. I excused
myself and climbed three flights of stairs."
Never had Feather been so surprised in her life. She looked like
a bewildered child.
"But--what COULD it matter to YOU?" she said in soft amaze.
"I don't know," his answer came after a moment's pause. "I have
caprices of mood. Certain mental images made my temperature rise.
Momentarily it did matter. One is like that at times. Andrews'
feline face and her muscular fingers--and the child's extraordinarily
exquisite flesh--gave me a second's furious shudder."
Feather quite broke in upon him.
"Are you--are you FOND of children?"
"No," he was really abrupt. "I never thought of such a thing in
my life--as being FOND of things."
"That was what--I mean I thought so." Feather faltered, as if in
polite acquiescence with a quite natural fact.
Coombe proceeded:
"As I went up the stairs I heard screams and I thought that
the pinching had begun. I got up quickly and opened the door and
found the woman lying flat on the floor by the bed, dragging out
the child who had hidden under it.
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