He gave a searching look around the room and spying the broom in the corner, went over and fetched it.
"Here's the broom."
"If you want that mess swept up, you can sweep it up yourself."
"Look here, you make me tired!"
His tone suggested that he was becoming more irritated. But Nora was beyond caring. As he put the broom in her hand, she flung it from her as far as she could. "Look here," he said again, and this time there was no mistaking the menace in his voice, "if you don't clean up that mess at once, I'll give you the biggest hiding you ever had in your life, I promise you that."
"Yours truly," he said, nodding his head. "I've done with larking now." He began rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. For some obscure reason—possibly because his deliberation seemed to connote implacability—this simple action filled her with a terror that she had not known before even in the midst of their physical struggle.
"Help! Help! Help!" she screamed.
She rushed across the room and threw open the door, sending her agonized appeal out into the night.
"Help! Help! Help!"