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The hall, like the
room, was dark, and she felt his ponderous body in the doorway,
rather than saw it.
"You will put on something and come down-stairs," he said harshly.
"I will not." She tried to keep her voice steady. "I've got to
work, if you haven't. I've got to have my sleep." Her tone rose,
hysterically. "If you think you can stay out half the night, and
guzzle beer, and then come here to get me up, you can think again."
"You are already up," he said, in a voice slowed and thickened by
rage. "You will come down-stairs."
He turned away and descended the creaking stairs again. She
listened for the next move, but he made none. She knew then that
he was waiting at the foot of the stairs.
She was half-maddened with terror by that time, and she ran to the
window. But it was high. Even if she could have dropped out, and
before she could put on enough clothing to escape in, he would be
back again, his rage the greater for the delay. She slipped into
a kimono, and her knees giving way under her she went down the
stairs.


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