“That is,” he added slowly, “I've warned you. You'd better warn him. He's doing his best to get into trouble.”
She knew him well, saw the craftiness come back into his eyes, and met it with equal strategy.
“I'll tell him,” she said, moving toward the door. “You haven't scared me for a minute and you won't scare him. You and your machine!”
She dared not seem to hurry.
“You're a boaster,” she said, with the door open. “You always were. And you'll never lay a hand on him. You're like all bullies; you're a coward!”
She was through the doorway by that time, and in terror for fear, having told her so much, he would try to detain her. She saw the idea come into his face, too, just as she slipped outside. He made a move toward her.
“I think—” he began.
She slammed the door and ran down the hallway toward the stairs. She heard him open the door and come out into the hall, but she was well in advance and running like a deer.
“Edith!” he called.
She stumbled on the second flight of stairs and fell a half-dozen steps, but she picked herself up and ran on. At the bottom of the lower flight she stopped and listened, but he had gone back. She heard the slam of his door as he closed it.