"I will not eat the food."
"What!"
"I will not do the work."
"What!"
"I will go."
"Go?"
"Go," repeated Annalise, stamping her foot. "I demand my wages, the increased wages that were promised me, and I will go."
"And where, Impudence past believing, will you go, in a country whose tongue you most luckily do not understand?"
Annalise looked up into Fritzing's furious eyes with the challenge of him who flings down his trump card. "Go?" she cried, with a defiance that was blood-curdling in one so small and hitherto so silent, "I will first go to that young gentleman who speaks my language and I will tell him all, and then, with his assistance, I will go straight—but straight, do you hear?"—and she stamped her foot again—"to Lothen-Kunitz."