It would put
him in an awkward position, would humiliate him most
unjustly. He fell into the habit of holding her hand
longer than was necessary at greeting or parting, of
touching her caressingly, of looking at her with the
eyes of a lover instead of a friend. She did not like
these things. For some mysterious reason--from
sheer perversity, she thought--she had taken a strong
physical dislike to him. Perfectly absurd, for there
was nothing intrinsically repellent about this handsome,
clean, most attractively dressed man, of the best type
of American and New-Yorker. No, only perversity
could explain such a silly notion. She was always
afraid he would try to take advantage of her delicate
position--always afraid she would have to yield something,
some trifle; yet the idea of giving anything from
a sense of obligation was galling to her. His very
refraining made her more nervous, the more shrinking.
If he would only commit some overt act--seize her,
kiss her, make outrageous demands--but this refrain-
ing, these touches that might be accidental and again
might be stealthy approach-- She hated to have him
shake hands with her, would have liked to draw away
when his clothing chanced to brush against hers.
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