Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/313

Rh He smiled vacantly at her.

"Poor boy," she whispered. "You need love." Her hand touched his cheek. It was a cool, kindly hand. "I don't mean passion. Or raw madness. Love that you have never had. The way I felt tonight proved to me that I could love you that way.

"I was afraid you'd gone mad completely, that you'd let them take you away from me. I was coming over to tell you that I'd decided to go south on Monday. We'd go by boat to Miami, then slowly, south all winter, Havana, Trinidad, Panama, Christmas in Rio, then with spring north again.

"We'd have the finest suites everywhere. We'd buy only the finest foods, and wines. I'd teach you to drink mellow wines sanely. And how to appreciate southern moons and trade winds and how it feels to go naked in the tropics, with warm sun on your body and a whole universe yours to roam around in."

Her arm slipped about his shoulder. She drew him closer to her.

"I'm a woman, darling. A very good woman. Made for love that is sweet and good for you. I like my body. It isn't soft like most women's. It's firm and strong. It can give and take. I've got that for you … a body."

She smiled. "Perhaps it's because I met you when you were … naked, that I know your body is fit to match mine. You have an elegant body, carefully made body. Those legs of yours … they are the last word. How you must have been able to dance!

"And really, sweet"—she kissed his lips—"you have more than a body. You have individuality. Just one of you—made for me."