Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb 1914 - Sep 1916 (assorted issues))

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90 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE THE PROPOSAL were those who would not call it by such a lenient term — but, at least, it was force, realism, unashamed desire. "Here we are." Pierre dropped his easy burden to the ground before a tiny hut in the very heart of a pine-grove. Back of the door ran a tiny, bubbling brook but recently released from its long confinement, and far off in the distance one glimpsed the lake wooed at night, no doubt, by the historically amorous moon. "Guess you'd better go inside till you're — well, we might say tamed," suggested the Cave Man ; " you see, I'm sorter prepared for you." By the side of the one rude room a tiny chamber had evidently been adorned for her inhabiting. The cot was spread witli a clean, coarse sheet, and there were a cracked pitcher and basin on a table for aquatic purposes. "Perhaps," said the girl, facing him scornfully, "perhaps you'll be so kind as to fill these — preparations — for me and leave me to myself for a few moments ? ' ' "Sure." Pierre extended his hand, and it trembled slightly as the girl handed him the pitcher. Left to herself, she confronted the situation squarely in the face. It really was tragi c — and yet Does there live still in the breast of w o m a n, super-civilized, adroitly masked, skilled in sex-deceit, the old, old love of the brute in man ? Dorothy, city-bred, utterly conventional, had never dreamed of anything more intense than a three-room flat, a handful of rice or two, a few garish presents and a moderately affection • ate spouse. Was it not so with all her intimates in the city ? Had they not all been wooed a n d won on the ' ' Can-we-do-it-on-twenty-dollars-a-week " plan? Were they not all rather sluggishly complacent? Did not a trip to Coney mean their wildest thrill? Perhaps that was why she, Dorothy, had left it all. Perhaps, under her skin, had thrilled the call of the mating bluebird — the lure of the wedding moon on the waters. She thought of the sallow, undersized youths who had paid her court in the city — then of Pierre's splendid girth, the swell of his mighty muscles as he bore her to his hut. "I am worse than he is" — Dorothy interrupted her own meditations scornfully — "and he is certainly a beast. Poor mother will be frantic; perhaps he intends murdering me — who knows \ And where on earth is he, anyway?" It was some two hours later before the Cave Man returned to his hut and his captive woman, and then it wTas a maimed Cave Man, with a wry look of pain on his face. To secure