For fully half an hour, Gyp continued to sit up, straining her ears.
Where was he? What doing? On her over-excited nerves, all sorts of
possibilities came crowding. He must have gone downstairs again. In
that half-drunken state, where would his baffled frenzies lead him? And,
suddenly, she thought that she smelled burning. It went, and came again;
she got up, crept to the door, noiselessly turned the key, and, pulling
it open a few inches, sniffed.
All was dark on the landing. There was no smell of burning out there.
Suddenly, a hand clutched her ankle. All the blood rushed from her
heart; she stifled a scream, and tried to pull the door to. But his
arm and her leg were caught between, and she saw the black mass of his
figure lying full-length on its face. Like a vice, his hand held her;
he drew himself up on to his knees, on to his feet, and forced his way
through. Panting, but in utter silence, Gyp struggled to drive him
out. His drunken strength seemed to come and go in gusts, but hers was
continuous, greater than she had ever thought she had, and she panted:
"Go! go out of my room--you--you--wretch!"
Then her heart stood still with horror, for he had slued round to the
bed and was stretching his hands out above the baby. She heard him
mutter:
"Ah-h-h!--YOU--in my place--YOU!"
Gyp flung herself on him from behind, dragging his arms down, and,
clasping her hands together, held him fast.
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