This discovery had been very upsetting.
"Not more than usual. Don't mind me. I'll probably end in a
roaring bad temper and smash something. My moody spells often
break up that way!"
Harmony put down the paring-knife, and going over to where he sat
rested a hand on his shoulder. Peter drew away from it.
"I have hurt you in some way?"
"Of course not."
"Could--could you talk about whatever it is? That helps
sometimes."
"You wouldn't understand."
"You haven't quarreled with Anna?" Harmony asked, real concern in
her voice.
"No. Good Lord, Harmony, don't ask me what's wrong! I don't know
myself."
He got up almost violently and set the little chair back against
the wall. Hurt and astonished, Harmony went back to the table.
The kitchen was entirely dark, save for the firelight, which
gleamed on the bare floor and the red legs of the table. She was
fumbling with a match and the candle when she realized that Peter
was just behind her, very close.
"Dearest," he said huskily. The next moment he had caught her to
him, was kissing her lips, her hair.
Harmony's heart beat wildly. There was no use struggling against
him. The gates of his self-control were down: all his loneliness,
his starved senses rushed forth in tardy assertion.
After a moment Peter kissed her eyelids very gently and let her
go. Harmony was trembling, but with shock and alarm only. The
storm that had torn him root and branch from his firm ground of
self-restraint left her only shaken.
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