THE BRASS BOWL
He proceeded calmly to imprison both small wrists in one strong, bony hand. "Better tell."
"Let me go!" she panted, struggling to rise.
His voice took on an ugly tone. "Tell!"
She was a child in his hands, but managed nevertheless to rise. As he applied the pressure more cruelly to her arms she cried aloud with pain and, struggling desperately, knocked the chair over.
It went down with a crash appallingly loud in that silent house and at that hour; and taking advantage of his instant of consternation she jerked free and sprang toward the door. He was upon her in an instant, however, hard fingers digging into her shoulders. "You little fool!"
"No!" she cried. "No, no, no! Let me go, you—you brute!"
Abruptly he thought better of his methods and released her, merely putting himself between her and the doorway.
"Don't be a little fool," he counseled. "You kick up that row and you'll have us both pinched inside of the next five minutes.
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