r a little
wordless struggle. And then she knew. Tessie's lips were not virgin. She
had been kissed before. But not like this. Not like this! She struck at
him furiously. Across her mind flashed the memory of a girl who had
worked in the finishing room. A nice girl, too. But that hadn't helped
her. Nap Ballou was laughing a little as he clasped her.

At that she heard herself saying: "I'll get Chuck Mory after you--you
drunken bum, you! He'll lick you black and blue. He'll ..."

The face, with the ugly, broken brown teeth, was coming close again.
With all the young strength that was in her she freed one hand and
clawed at that face from eyes to chin. A howl of pain rewarded her. His
hold loosened. Like a flash she was off. She ran. It seemed to her that
her feet did not touch the earth. Over brush, through bushes, crashing
against trees, on and on. She heard him following her, but the
broken-down engine that was his heart refused to do the work. She ran
on, though her fear was as great as before. Fear of what might have
happened ... to her, Tessie Golden ... that nobody could even talk fresh
to. She gave a little sob of fury and fatigue. She was stumbling now. It
was growing dark. She ran on again, in fear of the overtaking darkness.
It was easier now. Not so many trees and bushes. She came to a fence,
climbed over it, lurched as she landed, leaned against it weakly for
support, one hand on her aching heart. Before her was the Hatton summer
cottage, dimly outlined in the twilight among the trees. A warm,
flickering light danced in the window.

Tessie stood a moment, breathing painfully, sobbingly. Then, with a
little instinctive gesture, she patted her hair, tidied her blouse, and
walked uncertainly toward the house, up the steps to the door. She stood
there a moment, swaying slightly. Somebody'd be there. The light. The
woman who cooked for them or the man who took care of the place.
Somebody'd--

She knocked at the door feebly. She'd tell 'em she had lost her way and
got scared when it began to get dark. She knocked again, louder now.
Footsteps. She braced herself and even arranged a crooked smile. The
door opened wide. Old Man Hatton!

She looked up at him, terror and relief in her face. He peered over his
glasses at her. "Who is it?" Tessie had not known, somehow, that his
face was so kindly.

Tessie's carefully planned story crumbled into nothingness. "It's me!"
she whimpered. "It's me!"

He reached out an