"Lemme go! oh damn you, damn you--you _woman_--you _devil--lemme_ go!"
"Be _quiet,_ Sargent! Oh shut up, you _fool, shut up!"_
A noise came from the kitchen--a noise like the sound of a man falling
over boxes. Mr. Piper struggled furiously--Paris was crawling out of the
window--Paris, the sleek, sly chamberer, the gay hateful cuckoo of his
private nest was getting away! Mrs. Severance turned her head toward the
noise a second. Mr. Piper fought like a crippled wrestler.
"Grr-ah! Ah, would you, would you?"
He had wrenched one hand free for an instant--it went to his pocket and
came out of it with something that shone and was hard like a new metal toy.
_"Now_ will you lemme go?" But Mrs. Severance tried to grab for the hand
with the revolver in it instead, and succeeded only in striking the barrel
a little aside. There was a noise that sounded like a cannon-cracker
bursting in Mr. Piper's face--it was so near--and then he was standing up,
shaking all over, but free and a man ready to explain a number of very
painful things to Paris as soon as he caught him. He took one step toward
the dining-room, sheer rage tugging at his body as high wind tugs at a
bough.
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