She would face anything--anything in the world--rather than remain at the mercy of this man.
But--he had not been looking at her, and he did not look at her,--his arm shot out as she moved, and his hand fastened claw-like upon her dress.
"Sorry," he said again, in the same practical tone.

"But you'll have something to eat before you go." She stooped and strove wildly, frantically, to shake off the detaining hand.

But it held her like a vice, with awful skeleton fingers that she could not, dared not, touch.
"Let me go!" she cried impotently.

"How dare you?
How dare you ?" Still he did not raise his head.

He was on his knees, and he would not even trouble himself to rise.
"I can't help myself," he told her coolly.