There
was moisture on his soft, pallid skin, a nervous twitching of the under
lip; he passed one heavily ringed hand across his closely shaven jaw,
still staring at her.
"I want to tell you something," he said. "You've got to stop your
interference with my affairs, and stop it now."
"I am not interested in your affairs," she said unsteadily, still shaken
by her own revolt, still under the shock of her own arousing to a
resistance that had been long, long overdue. "If you mean," she went on,
"that the ruin of this boy is your affair, then I'll make it mine from
this moment. I've told you that he shall not play; and he shall not. And
while I'm about it I'll admit what you are preparing to accuse me of; I
_did_ make Sandon Craig promise to keep away; I _did_ try to make that
little fool Scott Innis promise, too; and when he wouldn't I informed
his father. . . . And every time you try your dirty bucket-shop methods
on boys like that, I'll do the same."
He swore at her quite calmly; she smiled, shrugged, and, imprisoning her
knees in her clasped hands, leaned back and looked at him.
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