“Are you coming here,” said Bibi, “or shall I fetch you?”
“You beast!” she said.
Manon had expected his violence and it came like the leap of a dog. Bibi pushed the table against her with a thrust of one big boot, so that she was thrown against the stove. She had made a grab at the knife, but before she could strike at him, Bibi’s long body was leaning over the table, and he had her by the wrist.
“Drop it!”
Her brown eyes blazed into his.
“You beast.”
“C’est ça.”
He took the cigar from his mouth and held the red end against her forearm. Manon flinched, twisted, cried out.
“Drop it.”
Her fingers relaxed, the knife fell on the floor.