"Let me alone!" he snarled, and stalked into the dressing-room to get his traveling bag.
Jacqueline lurched to her feet and staggered over toward the hall door.... The room was reeling around her in crimson streaks. He must not pass that door! At the price of her life, he must not pass that door! ... There was no key! ... He would go and tell her husband of her shame!... Her boy would blush now for the mother, for whose memory he had wept.... Crazed with rage and horror and drugs she put her back to the door and stared helplessly around the room. The dresser was at her right, and there within easy reach was his revolver! With a gasp she clutched it as Macbeth might have reached for the phantom dagger.... What was his life compared with the thought that her boy would know his mother's shame?... She heard him coming and hid the revolver in the folds of her skirt.
Bag in hand, he walked briskly up to the door and attempted to push her to one side.
"No! You shan't go! you shan't go!" she panted, struggling.
"We'll see!" he laughed, derisively, getting his hand on the knob.
"You shan't go" she panted struggling.
"Take care!"
"Don't be a fool!" he snarled. "Get out of the way or I'll make you!"
And at the word he shoved her roughly against the foot of the bed. With an effort she regained her balance.