"Won't you come inside?" he panted.
The man shook his head.
"I'm—I can't tell you how much I owe you for this," said Luke.
"Oh, you go to Hell," said the man.
§7. Inside the factory, Luke would not waste a glance on the strike-breakers that gathered, open-mouthed, around him.
"Get away," he ordered. "I'm taking her to the upper office. Nobody is to disturb her there. You understand? Nobody."
§8. During all that frightful progress back through the mob, she had lain in his arms silent, her eyes closed. Only now, when he brought her to the upper office, banged the door behind them and put her in an arm-chair, which he kicked the length of the room in order to place her as far as might be from the window, did she look at him.
"I didn't faint," she said. "I only pretended. I thought that was safest."
He had dropped to his knees beside her and had begun to chafe her hands. He was unconscious of the renewed din outside. Thus alone with her, he was thinking only how much he wanted her.
She was leaning far back in the chair. The rays of the street-lamp were the only light in the room, and they made her face seem as peaceful as the faces of the dead. When she opened her eyes, her eyes were luminous.