He took a swift stride towards her. His face was convulsed with passion. "You came here to see that soddened cur?" he said.
She shrank away from him. The tempest of his anger overwhelmed her. She could not stand against it. For the first time she quailed.
"I have seen him," she said. "And he is dead. Ah, don't—don't touch me!"
He paid no attention to her cry. He seized her by the shoulders and almost swung her from his path.
"It would have been better for you," he said between his teeth, "if he had died before you got here. You have begun to repent already, and you'll go on repenting for the rest of your life."
"What are you going to do?" she cried, seeing him turn. "Brett, don't go in there! Don't! Don't! You must not! You shall not!"
In a frenzy of fear she threw herself upon him, struggling with all her puny strength to hold him back.
"I tell you he is dead!" she gasped. "Why do you want to go in?"
"I am going to see for myself," he said stubbornly, putting her away.
"No!" she cried. "No!"