It was still raining. The monotonous sound of falling drops filled the
air; but the sky seemed clearer now, and there was a break in the
clouds.
Lialia, her cheek propped against one of the cold, damp pillars of the
veranda, let the rain beat upon her bare head, so that her hair was wet
through.
"My princess is displeased ... Lialitschka!" said Riasantzeff, as he
drew her closer to him, and lightly kissed moist, fragrant hair.
At this touch, so intimate and familiar, something seemed to melt in
Lialia's breast, and without knowing what she did, she flung her arms
round her lover's strong neck as, amid a shower of kisses, she
murmured:
"I am very, very angry with you! You're a bad man!"
All the while she kept thinking that after all there was nothing so
bad, or awful, or irreparable as she had supposed. What did it matter?
All that she wanted was to love and be loved by this big, handsome man.
Afterwards, at table, it was painful to her to notice Yourii's look of
amazement, and, when the chance came, she whispered to him, "It's awful
of me, I know!" at which he only smiled awkwardly.
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