Читать книгу Bread - Charles G. Norris - Страница 22

He kissed her when they parted from one another late that afternoon. They had been absorbed in talk, and the hours slipped by until before they were aware it was five o’clock. He walked home with her and just inside the heavy glass doors of the old-fashioned apartment house where she lived he put his arms about her, their faces came close together, and for the briefest of moments their lips met. It was a shy kiss, hardly more than a touch of mouth to mouth. For another moment they stood raptly gazing into each other’s eyes, their fingers interlocked. Then Jeannette fled, running up the stairs, nor did she grant him another look, even when she reached the landing above and had to turn. But on the third flight of stairs she paused, held her breath to still the noise of her panting, and listened. There was nothing. A cautious glance over the balustrade down through the narrow well of the stairs revealed his shadow on the stone flagging below. She sank to the step, and waited to catch her breath, her ears strained for a sound. Presently she heard him moving; there was a crisp clip of his shoes; she guessed he was searching the gloom of the stairwell for a glimpse of her. But she would not look, and sat motionless with tightly clasped hands. After a long interval she heard his hesitating step again. The half-opened door swung slowly back, brightening the hallway below a moment with yellow daylight from the street, then closed with a dull jangle of heavy glass. She sat for a moment more, then a tiny choking sound burst from between her close-shut lips, and she buried her glowing face in her hot hands, pressing her fingertips hard against her eyeballs until the force of them hurt her.