His blow knocked her reeling across the hall. Against the whitewashed wall she collapsed to her knees, got up half stunned, the clang of the outer grille ringing in her very brain.
With dazed eyes she gazed at the remnants of the torn letter, still crushed in her rigid fingers. Bright drops of blood from her mouth dripped slowly to the tessellated pavement.
Reeling still from the shock of the blow, she managed to reach the outer door, and stood swaying there, striving to pierce with confused eyes the lamplit darkness of the street. There was no sign of the one-eyed man. Then she turned and made her way back to the desk, supporting herself with a hand along the wall.
Waiting a few moments to control her breathing and her shaky limbs, she contrived finally to detach the receiver and call Barres. Over the wire she could hear the gramophone playing again in the studio.
“Please may I come up?” she whispered.
“Has the last mail come? Is there a letter for me?” he asked.
“Yes ... I’ll bring you w-what there is—if you’ll let me?”
“Thanks, Sweetness! Come right up!” And she heard him say: “It’s probably your letter, Thessa. Dulcie is bringing it up.”
Her limbs and body were still quivering, and she felt very weak and tearful as she climbed the stairway to the corridor above.