He established a system of espionage over her that drove her almost
to madness.
"What're you hanging round for?" she would demand when he stepped
forward at the mill gate. "D'you suppose I never want to be by
myself?"
Or:
"You just go away, Rudolph Klein. I'm going up with some of the
girls."
But she never lost him. He was beside her or at her heels, his
small crafty eyes on her. When he walked behind her there was a
sensuous gleam in them.
After a few weeks she became terrified. There was a coldness of
deviltry in him, she knew. And he had the whip-hand. She was
certain he knew about the watch, and her impertinence masked an
agony of fear. Suppose he went to her father? Why, if he knew,
didn't he go to her father?
She suspected him, but she did not know of what. She knew he was
an enemy of all government, save that of the mob, that he was an
incendiary, a firebrand who set on fire the brutish passions of a
certain type of malcontents. She knew, for all he pretended to be
the voice of labor, he no more represented the honest labor of the
country than he represented law and order.
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