“Why don’t you defend yourself?” he yelled, staring at the man.
“I’ll kill you—! I’ll take your life—! I’ll murder you—!”
But the man before him held his ground while he throttled him. Thrown this way and that by Freder’s fury, the body bent, now to the right, now to the left. And as often as this happened Freder saw, as through a transparent mist, the smiling countenance of Maria, who, leaning against the table, was looking on with her sea water eyes at the fight between father and son.
His father’s voice said: “Freder....”
He looked the man in the face. He saw his father. He saw the hands which were clawing around his father’s throat. They were his, were the hands of his son.
His hands fell loose, as though cut off ... he stared at his hands, stammering something which sounded half like an oath, half like the weeping of a child that believes itself to be alone in the world.
The voice of his father said: “Freder....”
He fell on his knees. He stretched out his arms. His head fell forward into his father’s hands. He burst into tears, into despairing sobs....
A door slid to.
He flung his head around. He sprang to his feet. His eyes swept the room.