The old man seemed unable at first to grasp my meaning. He stood quavering before me, his lower jaw hanging slack, his eyes widening with surprise, a look of confusion on his face.
“She is going with me now,” I repeated firmly. I turned around to her.
“Get some long wrap, Malella, that will cover you. Hasten—I will wait for you here.”
The girl stood irresolute. Confusion and fear were written on her face; her glance swung from one to the other of us, undecided.
“At once. Malella, do you hear?” I added sharply. “Get your wrap—I will wait for you.”
I pushed her away from me, and she stumbled forward toward the door through which she had entered the room.
Her movement seemed to awaken the little old man into sudden action. He flung himself on me with a snarl, his shaking, shriveled fingers clutching at my throat. I shook him off, but he came back instantly, throwing himself at me fearlessly, with a shrill, maniacal, blood-curdling cry.
Reason left me; for an instant the room swam red before my eyes. I tore his fingers again from my throat, and seizing him around the waist, hurled his frail body violently to the floor. His head struck a corner of the model stand; his body quivered a moment and then lay still.
The girl, with livid, terror-stricken face, was shrinking against the side wall of the room, with one hand pressed tightly over her mouth. I hurried to her.
“Never mind the wrap, Malella—we will go without it.”