“Shut up!” he said, possessive and determined. “You’ve played around with me long enough. Now you’re going to explain.”
She stared at him “My poor George,” she said, “have you gone mad?”
“I’m not your poor George,” he said angrily, and giving way to a blind instinct, he smacked her face. As his hand connected with her cheek, he pulled hack, so that the blow was a light one, but even at that, her head jerked back.
She was instantly on her feet.
“How dare you!” she stormed at him. “You cheap, rotten—”
He smacked her again. This time he hit her hard, knocking her onto the divan.
He stood over her. “I don’t like doing this, Cora,” he said, breathing heavily, “but it’s the only way I can show you I’ve changed. From now on I’m master, do you understand?”
She leaned back on her elbows, one side of her face red, the other side like wax. Then she giggled.
“You?” she sneered. “You haven’t the guts of a rabbit.”
Confident in his new-found courage and strength, George merely shrugged. He took out a cigarette, found a match, flicked it alight with his thumb nail. He lit the cigarette and forced a stream of smoke down his nostrils.