Read Online Kind Are Her Answers by Mary Renault - Free Book Online

such a darling and I love you so much.”
    “No,” said Kit quickly. He moved a little away from her. “Don’t spoil it. It’s good enough as it is.”
    “But I only said I loved you. Don’t you want me to love you? Darling?”
    “I don’t want you to say you do as if you were offering me a lollipop.”
    She looked round at him quickly. “But I—” She slid away from him, and lay with her chin cupped in her hands. “You frighten me,” she said slowly. “People generally—” Her head jerked a little, as if she were flicking something away. “Are you always as devastatingly sincere as this?”
    “I didn’t mean to be brutal. But from you it’s too … Oh, well, anyway, don’t do it.”
    “You don’t want to love any one, do you?”
    He was silent, startled that she should have perceived this. For a moment he cast about for some evasion, but in the end said simply, “No. I don’t.”
    He was unhappy at the thought of hurting her; but she only leaned over and stroked his face. “It doesn’t matter, pet,” she said fondly. “You don’t have to. Don’t get all worked up about it.”
    “I wish I could tell you,” he said slowly, “how you—”
    “S-sh. I promise I won’t love you if you don’t like it. Cross my heart I won’t. I only said it to be nice to you. Dear … what do they call you? What’s your name?”
    Kit looked into her earnest face, and was suddenly overtaken by laughter. He choked it down, till he found that she was laughing too. They clung to one another, shaking, till he forgot not to make a noise, and she stuffed a handful of eiderdown into his mouth. During this moment of enforced quiet it occurred to him that he had, as far as he could remember, never laughed in bed before.
    “Well?” she asked when she had ungagged him. “What is your name?”
    “I adore you. It’s Christopher.”
    “Is it? But mine’s Christina. Our names are nearly the same.” She looked at him wide-eyed. “That must mean something, you know.”
    “So it seems.” He kissed her, still laughing a little. “People call me Kit as a rule.”
    “Kit. That’s nice. I like that. Do you know mine?”
    “The important part. Christie what—or ought I to know?”
    “Christie Heath, of course. My grandfather was Aunt Amy’s brother.”
    “Christie Heath.” He repeated it because the sound of it pleased him; and affectionately, without thinking much about it, stroked his hand over her side. He felt her flinch a little, and stopped.
    “It’s all right. It’s only a bruise. You’re stronger than you think you are, you know.” Kit had heard something of this kind before, and his response was instinctive. With the prompt obedience of habit he moved himself out of the way and said, “I’m awfully sorry.”
    She was quite still for a moment; then with a little murmuring sound reached up and flung her arms round him with a violence that nearly throttled him. Her face was pressed tightly to his, and he could feel her lashes grow warm and wet. “I didn’t mean it, I was making it up. You didn’t hurt me, dear, you didn’t. You’ve been unhappy and I didn’t know.”
    “Hush,” whispered Kit, stroking her hair. “Don’t—please; I—” His throat hurt him and he could not say any more.
    One of her tears ran, thinly salt, over his mouth. “Dear, dear Kit. I’m here now. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m going to look after you, you’re never going to be unhappy any more.” He wanted to laugh at her absurdity, but the tightness in his throat prevented him. Her warmth hung, heavy and softly clinging, about his neck: he shut his eyes, and bent to her lifted mouth.
    Slowly and momentously, seeming to clear its throat beforehand, the grandfather clock in the hall struck the half-hour. The little battery in the bedside lamp was fading; the bulb had grown dim and yellow, and its faint circle of light hardly reached beyond the bed. Kit stretched himself, and gave a sigh into which a