“I’ll give you two hundred marks if you’ll kiss me.”
“Oh, boo! What a condition! And I don’t want to kiss you—I don’t like kissing. Please go!”
“Yes—you do!—yes, you do.” He caught hold of her arms above the elbows. She struggled, and was quite amazed to realise how angry she felt.
“Let me go—immediately!” she cried—and he slipped one arm round her body, and drew her towards him—like a bar of iron across her back—that arm.
“Leave me alone! I tell you. Don’t be mean! I didn’t want this to happen when you came into my room. How dare you?”
“Well, kiss me and I’ll go!”
It was too idiotic—dodging that stupid, smiling face.
“I won’t kiss you!—you brute!—I won’t!” Somehow she slipped out of his arms and ran to the wall—stood back against it—breathing quickly.
“Get out!” she stammered. “Go on now, clear out!”
At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed herself. She thrilled at her own angry voice. “To think I should talk to a man like that!” An angry flush spread over his face—his lips curled back, showing his teeth—just like a dog, thought Viola. He made a rush at her, and held her against the wall—pressed upon her with all the weight of his body. This time she could not get free.