"What did you get it for?"
Sally could not hide her trembling. She was blanched, and her shoulder was raised as if to avoid a blow. It came. Toby released her wrist, and seized her shoulder. Roughly, he so shoved her away from him that she was thrown upon her face. She scrambled out of bed, and stood panting before him, while Toby, kicking down the bedclothes, seemed crouched upon the bed as if he might murderously spring at her. She watched his hands, fascinated by an imagination of their grip upon her throat.
"What did you get it for?" Toby repeated, in a voice of madness.
"To come here."
"Liar!" He leapt out of bed, and Sally, in a panic, turned to fly. She could not escape. Toby held her shoulder again. Again he savagely pushed her, so that she fell against the wall, her head striking it. Sally slid to the floor, shrinking from him, terrified now that death seemed so near. She did not scream. She could still have done so; but it was not her instinct to cry out. "You liar!" Toby said again. "What did you get it for? Christ!" He dragged Sally once again to her feet. His fingers were bruising her arm. She was physically helpless and half-stunned. "Is that the way you make your living?" demanded Toby, beside himself.
"No!" It was Sally's turn to shout. "No, you fool. You fool!"
"You dirty little liar! It is!"
"It's not!" cried Sally. With a tremendous effort for self-control she checked a sob that would have plunged her into hysteria. "I'm married!"
Toby fell away, his mouth open. The release sent Sally against the wall once more. He stood looking at her, his face grey, his eyes smouldering.
"You tell me that?" he said. "Married!"