“I was going to bring it to you,” I said.
He scuttled towards me on his hands and toes, and snatching the book from me, squatted down, hugging it, and glaring at me in a sort of dumb malevolence.
I had no retort for such rudeness. I stood crimsoning under my black a moment, then, in default of a better answer, began to cry.
He was not the least moved, the ill-conditioned boor, but he was disturbed by the noise.
“Ur-rh!” he bullied. “That’ll do. Do you hear?”
Indignation gave me decision. I turned my back on him.
“Where are you going?” he cried.
I stalked on without a word.
“No, you don’t!” he said, scrambling up; and he followed and caught hold of my jacket.
“Let me go!” I cried, struggling. “My master will be looking for me.”