Mazarine, in spite of his rage, quailed
before the sharp, menacing voice so little in tune with its reputation
for giggling, and stepping back, he let Louise pass. Then he plunged
forward out of the doorway.
"That's right. Come outside," said Orlando scornfully. "Come out into the
open." His voice became lower. There was something deadly in it, boy as
he was. "Come out, you hypocrite, and listen to what I've got to say.
Listen to the truth I've got to tell you. If you don't listen, I'll
horsewhip you, that'd horsewhip a woman, till you can't stand--you
loathsome old dog. . . . Yes, he took his horsewhip to her yesterday," he
added to the spectators, who muttered angrily, for the West is chivalrous
towards women.
Something near to madness possessed Orlando. No one had ever seen him as
he was at that moment. Down through generations had come to him some iron
thing that suddenly revealed itself in him, as something had just
suddenly revealed itself in Louise.
The other three men--two in the wagon and one beside his horse-stared at
him as though they had seen him for the first time. They were unready for
the passion that possessed him. Not a muscle of his body appeared to
move; he was as motionless as the trunk of a tree. But in his eyes and
his voice there was, as one of the ranchers said afterwards, "Hell--and
then some more."
"Listen to me," he said again, and his voice was low and husky now.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110