'Let me go—immediately!' she cried—and he slipped one arm round her body, and drew her towards him—like a bar of iron across her back—that arm.
'Leave me alone! I tell you. Don't be mean! I didn't want this to happen when you came into my room. How dare you?'
'Well, kiss me and I'll go!'
It was too idiotic—dodging that stupid, smiling face.
'I won't kiss you!—you brute!—I won't!' Somehow she slipped out of his arms and ran to the wall—stood back against it—breathing quickly.
'Get out!' she stammered. 'Go on now, clear out!'
At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed herself. She thrilled at her own angry voice. 'To think I should talk to a man like that!' An angry flush spread over his face—his lips curled back, showing his teeth—just like a dog, thought Viola. He made a rush at her, and held her against the wall—pressed upon her with all the weight of his body. This time she could not get free.
'I won't kiss you. I won't. Stop doing that Ugh! you're like a dog—you ought to find lovers round lamp-posts— you beast—you fiend!'
He did not answer. With an expression of the most absurd determination he pressed ever more heavily upon her. He did not even look at her—but rapped out in a sharp voice: 'Keep quiet—keep quiet.'
'Gar—r! Why are men so strong?' She began to cry. 'Go away—I don't want you, you dirty creature. I want to murder you. Oh, my God! if I had a knife.'
'Don't be silly—come and be good!' He dragged her towards the bed.
'Do you suppose I'm a light woman?' she snarled, and swooping over she fastened her teeth in his glove.
'Ach! don't do that—you are hurting me!'
She did not let go, but her heart said, 'Thank the Lord I thought of this.'
'Stop this minute—you vixen—you bitch.' He threw her away from him. She saw with joy that his eyes were full of tears. 'You've really hurt me,' he said in a choking voice.
'Of course I have. I meant to. That's nothing to what I'll do if you touch me again.'
The strange man picked up his hat. 'No thanks,' he said grimly. 'But I'll not forget this—I'll go to your landlady.'
'Pooh!' She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. 'I'll tell her you forced your way in here and tried to assault me. Who will she believe?—with your bitten hand. You go and find your Schafers.'
A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola. She rolled her eyes at him. 'If you don't go away this moment I'll bite you again,' she said, and the absurd words started her laughing. Even when the door was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed, and danced about the room.
What a morning! Oh, chalk it up. That was her first fight, and she'd won—she'd conquered that beast—all by herself. Her hands were still trembling. She pulled up the sleeve of her gown—great red marks on her arms. 'My ribs will be blue. I'll be blue all over,' she reflected. 'If only that beloved Casimir could have seen us.' And the feeling of rage and disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared. How could the poor darling help not having any money? It was her fault as much as his, and he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she had done. If only three o'clock would come. She saw herself running towards him and putting her arms round his neck. 'My blessed one! Of course we are bound to win. Do you love me still? Oh, I have been horrible lately.'
13. A BLAZE.
'Max, you silly devil, you'll break your neck if you go careering down the slide that way. Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get some coffee.'
'I've had enough for to-day. I'm damp all through. There, give us a cigarette, Victor, old man. When are you going home?'
'Not for another hour. It's fine this afternoon, and I'm getting into decent shape. Look out, get off the track; here comes Fraulein Winkel. Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!'
'I'm cold all through. That's the worst of this place—the mists—it's a damp cold. Here, Forman, look after this sleigh—and stick it somewhere so that I can get it without looking through a hundred and fifty others to-morrow morning.'
They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee. Victor sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and looking, half laughingly, at Max.
'What's the matter, my dear? Isn't the world being nice and pretty?'
'I want my coffee, and I want to put my feet into my pocket—they're like stones... Nothing to eat, thanks—the cake is like underdone india-rubber here.'
Fuchs and Wistuba came and sat at their table. Max half turned his back and stretched his feet out to the oven. The three other men all began talking at once—of the weather—of the record slide—of the fine condition of the Wald See for skating.
Suddenly Fuchs looked at Max, raised his eyebrows and nodded across to Victor, who shook his head.
'Baby doesn't feel well,' he said, feeding the brown dog with broken lumps of sugar, 'and nobody's to disturb him—I'm nurse.'
'That's the first time I've ever known him off colour,' said Wistuba. 'I've always imagined he had the better part of this world that could not be taken away from him. I think he says his prayers to the dear Lord for having spared him being taken home in seven basketsful to-night. It's a fool's game to risk your all that way and leave the nation desolate.'
'Dry up,' said Max. 'You ought to be wheeled about on the snow in a perambulator.'
