He drew up his shoulders and threw out his hands.
“If you do,” he ended, “that’s your lookout. I’ll——”
“You’ll do what?” she said, rising, terrified by his answer.
He rose, too.
As it chanced, his chair was nearer the door than hers, so that now, apparently without having intended it, he blocked her way out.
“I’ll do this!” he said, stepping toward her.
She stared at him, frozen and stupefied with sudden horror, because of the alteration in his face and manner; it was as if a smiling man had changed into a snake before her very eyes. And though she tried to recoil, she did not seem able to do it.
“I’ll do this!” he repeated, putting out his hand—a fat, pudgy hand, that now had a clammy look, as if the fingers were brown eels.
She tried to step backward and cry out.
But the hand shot out, and the next moment it had clutched her throat. She fell to the door, writhing in that deadly, serpent grip.