I--I can't explain it to you--to anybody. I guess
pretty isn't the word. It's beauty I mean."
"All right, then, anything your little heart desires--beauty."
"The ocean beauty out there, I mean. Something that makes you hurt
and want to hurt more and more. Beauty, Getaway. It's something you
understand or something you don't. It can't be talked. It sounds silly."
"Well, then, whistle it!"
"It has to be _felt_."
"Peel me," he said, laying her arm to his bare bicep. "Some little
gladiator, eh? Knock the stuffings out of any guy that tried to take you
away from me."
She turned her head on its flare of drying hair away from him. The beach
was all but quiet and the haze of the end of day in the air, almost in
her eyes, too.
"Oh, Getaway!" she said, on a sigh, and again, "Getaway!"
His reserve with her, at which he himself was the first to marvel,
went down a little then and he seized her bare arm, kissing it, almost
sinking his teeth. The curve of her chin down into her throat, as she
turned her head, had maddened him.
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