Donald approached her still more closely. “If you go out of that door, you go out of my life forever,” he said sternly. “I shall never come to you—of that you may be sure.”
“Very well—you—you brute!” she cried, and turned to go.
“Stop!” he cried, springing toward her.
“No. You have gone too far.” She swept into the hall.
He took her roughly by the arm. “Come back here,” he cried, beside himself with fury. “Since you say I am a brute, I will act like one.” He pulled her forcibly into the room and slammed the door.
“Don’t,” she cried, resisting him. “Oh! You are hurting me—Donald!” She looked at him in wonder.
“Be quiet!” he said. “I am not hurting you half so much as you are hurting me. I have told you what you must do, and you have got to do it.”
“What do you want with me?” she cried, still struggling with him. “Let go my arm—let go of me, I tell you! I want to go! Oh!”
“You shall not go.”