She became aware that
Lingard was trying to say something, but she heard only a confused
stammering expressive of wonder and delight in which she caught the
words "You . . . you . . ." deliriously repeated. He didn't release his
hold of her; his helpful and irresistible grip had changed into a close
clasp, a crushing embrace, the violent taking possession by an embodied
force that had broken loose and was not to be controlled any longer.
As his great voice had done a moment before, his great strength,
too, seemed able to fill all space in its enveloping and undeniable
authority. Every time she tried instinctively to stiffen herself against
its might, it reacted, affirming its fierce will, its uplifting power.
Several times she lost the feeling of the ground and had a sensation of
helplessness without fear, of triumph without exultation. The inevitable
had come to pass. She had foreseen it--and all the time in that dark
place and against the red glow of camp fires within the stockade the
man in whose arms she struggled remained shadowy to her eyes--to her
half-closed eyes. She thought suddenly, "He will crush me to death
without knowing it."
He was like a blind force. She closed her eyes altogether. Her head fell
back a little. Not instinctively but with wilful resignation and as
it were from a sense of justice she abandoned herself to his arms.
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