Kirill pressed her writhing body to him and, without realizing what he was doing, began to stroke her head, but Kira did not stop, continued to spin like a snake on his lap, trying to hit him with some part of her body.

— I hate it! she shouted.

He pressed her to him and, obeying a sudden impulse, began to kiss the top of her head, her weeping cheeks, her forehead. When he felt that he had stopped floundering, he grew bolder: he kissed the corner of his mouth, on the lower lip, and then covered her mouth with his own in a desperate, rough kiss. He did not...