A vivid flash of lightning, followed by a deafening roar of thunder in
the angry sky, brought them back to earth. The raindrops began to beat
against their faces. Sharp, hysterical laughter rose to their lips,
and they set out on a run for the still distant hotel. The deluge came
just as they reached the shelter of a friendly awning in front of a
grocery store. The wide, old-fashioned covering afforded safe retreat.
Panting, they drew up and ensconced themselves as far back as possible
in the doorway.
She was not afraid of the storm. Life with the circus had made her
quite impervious to the crash of thunder; the philosophy of Vagabondia
had taught her that lightning is not dangerous unless it strikes. The
circus man is a fatalist. A person dies when his time comes, not
before. It is all marked down for him.
Of the two, David was certainly the more nervous. His arm was about
her shoulders; her firm, slender body was drawn close to his. His
clasp tightened as the timidity of inexperience gave way to
confidence; an amazing sense of conquest, of possession took hold of
him. He could have shouted defiance to the storm.
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