I do not think you will give your word to me

"But to do what I wished to do--as you say just now yourself--I am ready to use all means--even to killing. Why do you not think I would also break, my word to do my ends?" "I think you would not." "But do you think I would, what you call--consider your trust in me more great than my government's trust in me?" "No. I do not think that either." "Well?" "I do not think you will give your word to me unless you mean to keep it. If you do give it, I am willing to rely upon it." The Leopard Woman moved impulsively to his side. "Very well. I give it," she said with a choke. "That you go with my safari, without subterfuge, without sending word anywhere--in other words, a fair start afresh!" "Just that," she replied. "That is your word of honour?" "My word of honour." "Give me your hand on it." She laid her palm in his. His hand closed over hers, gripping it tightly. Her eyes were swimming, her breast heaved. Slowly she swayed toward him, leaned over him. Her lips touched his. Suddenly she was seized hungrily. She abandoned herself to the kiss. But after a moment she tore herself away from him, panting. "This must not be!" she cried tragically. "I know not what I do! This is not good! I am a woman of honour!" Kingozi, his blind face alight, held out his arms to her. "Your honour is safe with me," he said. But he had mistaken her meaning. Step by step she recoiled from him until she stood at the distance of some paces, her hands pressed against her cheeks, her eyes fixed on him with a strange mixture of tenderness, pity, and sternness.