Her eyes were shining,
and she reached out and clutched Peter close up against her, so
that he could hear the choke and throb of her heart.
"Oh, Peter, Peter," she panted. "If you could only talk! If you
could run and catch Mister Roger, an' tell him I'm here, an' that
he must come back--"
She hugged him closer. He sensed the sudden thrill that leapt
through her body.
"Peter," she whispered, "will you do it?"
For a few moments she did not seem to breathe. Then he heard a
quick little cry, a sob of inspiration and hope, and her arms came
from about him, and he saw the knife flashing in the yellow
moonlight.
He did not understand, but he knew that he must watch her
carefully. She had bent her head, and her hair, nearly dry, glowed
softly in the face of the moon. Her hands were fumbling in the
disheveled curls, and Peter saw the knife flash back and forth,
and heard the cut of it, and then he saw that in her hand she held
a thick brown tress of hair that she had severed from her head. He
was puzzled. And Nada dropped the knife, and his curiosity
increased when she tore a great piece out of her tattered dress,
and carefully wrapped the tress of hair in it. Then she drew him
to her again, and tied the knotted fold of dress securely about
his neck; after that she tore other strips from her dress, and
wound them about his neck until he felt muffled and half
smothered.
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