A strange
note rose in her throat, and turning toward him suddenly she flung
herself into his arms. Her own arms encircled his neck, and for a
space she lay shudderingly against his breast, as if sobbing. How
many times he kissed her in those moments Philip could not have
told. It must have been a great many. He knew only that her arms
were clinging tighter and tighter about his neck, and that she was
whispering his name, and that his hands were buried in her soft
hair. He forgot time, forgot the possible cost of precious seconds
lost. It was a small thing that recalled him to his senses. From
out of a spruce top a handful of snow fell on his shoulder. It
startled him like the touch of a strange hand, and in another
moment he was explaining swiftly to Celie that there were other
enemies near and that they must lose no time in flight.
He fastened one of the pouches at his waist, picked up his club,
and--on second thought--one of the Kogmollock javelins. He had no
very definite idea of how he might use the latter weapon, as it
was too slender to be of much avail as a spear at close quarters.
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