"
He turned and faced her again.
"What should I be doing with beliefs?" he asked.
"Well, I think you have them--some kind of beliefs," she insisted, "you
must have them. You get things done. You should hear the men talk of you.
Sometimes at the house they are quite foolish about what a wonderful
fellow you are and what you are doing here. They say that you drive on and
on. What drives you? I want to know."
For the moment Sam half suspected that she was secretly laughing at him.
Finding her quite serious he started to reply and then stopped, regarding
her.
The silence between them went on and on. A clock on the wall ticked
loudly.
Sam stepped nearer to her and stood looking down into the face she slowly
turned up to his.
"I want to have a talk with you," he said, and his voice broke. He had the
illusion of a hand gripping at his throat.
In a flash he had definitely decided that he would try to marry her. Her
interest in the motives of his life had clinched the sort of half decision
he had made. In an illuminating moment during the prolonged silence
between them he had seen her in a new light. The feeling of vague intimacy
brought to him by his thoughts of her became a fixed belief that she
belonged to him--was a part of him--and he was charmed with her manner,
and her person, standing there, as with a gift given him.
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