"Quit!"
She sprang back from his touch and raised her hand with the glove dangling in the attitude of a horseman cracking his whip. "You—you quit!" Like Dryope changed into a tree, with the woodiness creeping up her limbs and the glove in her passive hand, she stood with her arm flung upward. "You quit!"
"Dear child, you mustn't—"
"I—I'm goin'—lemme go!"
"Aw, come now, sister; don't get frisky—I didn't mean to make you sore. Gee! Ain't you a touchy little devil?"
"I'm goin'."
"If that's your number, all righty—but you're just kiddin'—you ain't goin' to be too independent in one of the worst seasons in the business."
She moved toward the door with her hand outstretched to the knob.
"You better think twice, sister—but don't lemme keep you—there's other Red Widows as good and better'n you beatin' like an army at my door this minute. But don't lemme keep you."
"Will—will you lemme alone?"