"
"No. And yet, if the other people are already unhappy?"
"Never!" she said. And the answer was to the unspoken question in
both their hearts.
It was not until they were in the taxicab that Clayton forced the
personal note, and then it came as a cry, out of the very depths
of him. She had slipped her hand into his, and the comfort of even
that small touch broke down the barriers he had so carefully erected.
"I need you so!" he said. And he held her hand to his face. She
made no movement to withdraw it.
"I need you, too," she replied. "I never get over needing you.
But we are going to play the game, Clay. We may have our weak
hours - and this is one of them - but always, please God, we'll
play the game."
The curious humility he felt with her was in his voice.
"I'll need your help, even in that."
And that touch of boyishness almost broke down her reserve of
strength. She wanted to draw his head down on her shoulder, and
comfort him. She wanted to smooth back his heavy hair, and put
her arms around him and hold him.
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