Then he did something that he afterward regretted. But malice burned so hotly in his veins that he could not resist the impulse. He walked over to her and, before she could comprehend his purpose, swept her into his arms, held her tightly for a moment, and kissed her, her eyes, her lips, her throat. Then he flung her roughly back upon the divan, stalked from the room, and closed the door with an emphasis which proclaimed that it was to stand between them eternally. Once he reached the street, he spat and rubbed his lips energetically.
He had been a fool to do that. He had slipped down to her level. But, hang it! it was the only way he could make her feel anything, the viper!
A fool indeed; for later that act was going to cost him dearly.
He left behind a tableau. Not until his footsteps died away did the woman stir. Then she sprang to her feet, a fury. She swept her hand savagely across her mouth. She, too, spat.
"Oh!" she cried, through her teeth, in a kind of animal roar. She seized the divan pillow, tore at it, and sent it hurtling across the room. "Oh!"
"There, there! Enough of that, Berta!"
A man stepped from behind the screen. He was notable for three things, his bulk, his straw-colored hair, and the pleasant expression of his smooth, ruddy face. The ensemble was particularly agreeable. But in detail, somehow, the man lost out. There wasn't enough skull at the back of his head, his eyes were too shallow, there was a bad droop to his nether lip. For all these defects, everything about the man suggested power—power never wastefully applied.
The woman whirled upon him. "But you!" her voice thick with passion. "You saw what he did?"
"Yes."
"And you let him go?"