“You –––! I’ll have those dollars if I have to take ’em!”
“You shall not!”
Will flung his pipe to the ground and dashed at Eve like a madman. He caught her by the shoulders, and gripped the warm rounded flesh until the pain made her writhe under his clutch.
“Where are they?” he demanded, with another furious oath. “I’m going to have ’em. Speak! Speak, you ––– or I’ll–––”
But Eve was obdurate. Her courage was greater than 160 her strength. He shook her violently, clutching at her shoulders as though to squeeze the information he needed out of her. But he got no answer, and, in a sudden access of demoniacal rage, he swung her round and hurled her across the room with all his strength. She fell with a thud, and beyond a low moan lay quite still. Her head had struck the sharp angle of the coal box.
In a moment the man had passed into the bedroom in search of the money. Nor did he have to search far. Eve kept her money in one place always, and he knew where it was. Having possessed himself of the roll of bills he came out into the kitchen. He looked about him, and his furious eyes fell upon the prostrate form of his wife. She was lying beside the coal box in the attitude in which she had fallen. He went over to her, and stood for a second gazing down at the result of his handiwork.
But there was neither pity nor remorse in his heart. For the time at least he hated her. She had dared to defy him, she had twitted him with his gaming, she had refused him––in favor of Elia. He told himself all this, and, as he looked down at the still figure, he told himself it served her right, and that she would know better in the future. But he waited until he detected the feeble rise and fall of her bosom. Then he went out, conscious of a certain feeling of relief in spite of his rage.