“How do I know? I've been asleep!”
“Some sleep!” he said, and suddenly lurched against the door. In spite of her it yielded, and although she braced herself with all her strength, his weight against it caused it to give way. It was a suspicious, crafty Rudolph who picked himself up and made a clutch at her in the dark.
“You little liar,” he said thickly. And struck a match. She cowered away from him.
“I was going to run away, Rudolph,” she cried. “He hasn't any business locking me in, I won't stand for it.”
“You've been out.”
“No!”
“Out—after him!”
“Honest to God, Rudolph, no. I hate him. I don't ever want to see him again.”
He put a hand out into the darkness, and finding her, tried to draw her to him. She struggled, and he released her. All at once she knew that he was weak with fright. The bravado had died out of him. The face she had touched was covered with a clammy sweat.
“I wish to God Herman would come.”