"You must hold me tighter," she told him.
Her mood rapidly changed, and she complained of the eternal, pervasive
fall of the forge hammer. "It will drive me mad," she declared almost
wildly. "I can't bear to think of its going on and on, year after year;
listening to it--" He heard her with sombre eyes. She had come to the
counting house, empty for the moment but for themselves, and stood with
her countenance shadowed by a frown. "If the hammer stops," he replied,
waving his hand largely, "all this, the Pennys, stop, too. I'm afraid
that sound of beating out iron will be always wrought through our lives.
You will get accustomed to it--"
Her expression grew petulant, resentful. "Do you mean that we couldn't,
perhaps, go to England, if--if I wanted?" He moved closer to her,
brushing the circumference of her skirt. "You asked me to hold you, to
keep you from the past; and I am going to do it. London is all that you
wish to forget; it must go completely out of your life ... never finger
you again." A faint dread that deepened almost to antagonism was
visible on her countenance. "I suppose to men talk like that seems a
sign of strength, of possession; but it doesn't impress women, really.
You see, women give, or else--there is nothing.
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