“An' get outa here. You go into the other room.”
“Here, now,” Harmon broke in. “This is a fine way to treat a fellow.”
“I've given you too much rope as it is,” was Billy's answer.
“I've paid my rent regularly, haven't I?”
“An' I oughta knock your block off for you. Don't see any reason I shouldn't, for that matter.”
“If you do anything like that, Billy—” Saxon began.
“You here still? Well, if you won't go into the other room, I'll see that you do.”
His hand clutched her arm. For one instant she resisted his strength; and in that instant, the flesh crushed under his fingers, she realized the fullness of his strength.
In the front room she could only lie back in the Morris chair sobbing, and listen to what occurred in the kitchen. “I'll stay to the end of the week,” the fireman was saying. “I've paid in advance.”
“Don't make no mistake,” came Billy's voice, so slow that it was almost a drawl, yet quivering with rage. “You can't get out too quick if you wanta stay healthy—you an' your traps with you. I'm likely to start something any moment.”