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He stopped abruptly, still staring at her. He said, uneasily: "Lina . .

She continued to weep.

"Lina."

He went across to the bunk where she lay crouched, moving slowly, as though apprehensive, knelt down beside her and laid his head upon her breast.

"Lina . . . I am so tired . . . poor Lina ... but I've been working so hard, I am so tired."

She whispered: "Poor Nurdo!"

"Yes, poor Nurdo. Poor Lina. Both so tired."

He sighed; his head still rested upon her breast. Timidly she began to stroke his hair. He kept still, permitting her. She persevered, waiting for him to fling her away, as was his wont. But he did not fling her away; he stayed quietly beside her. She went on stroking his head. Her hand trembled. At last, after so long, he wanted affection more than passion; and it was too late, for how was she to love him now that he had taught her to be af raid of him?

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