“What’s that?... You scream?”
Cornelia was stark.
“Stand aside,” he ordered Tom. Tom moved as a muscle flicks to a nerve.
The man stood over his daughter. He was gray and erect. His hand lifted. He struck her sharp on the cheek. Then he smiled. His hand lifted again.
“No you don’t,” she cried. “No, you don’t dare!”
“You wanton——”
“No, you don’t dare!”
The old man looked at his son and daughter, his face was ineffably sad. It was sad with a sense of sacrilege and of a God proved impotent. It was sad with a hunger that only a blow could appease.
“Go home!”
His command straightened Cornelia and her face stayed Tom.