She laughed
and came close to the table.
"I'm not going away, Martin . . . not until we've had a talk.
Nothing can make me. So there!"
He was looking at her again.
"Why, you've cut your hair!" he said.
"Yes." she said.
Then he turned roughly right round upon her as though he meant to
end the matter once and for all.
"Look here! . . . I do mean what I say--" He was cut off then by a
fit of coughing. He leant back against the wall and fought with it,
his hand against his chest. She made no movement and said no word
while the attack lasted.
He gasped, recovering his breath, then, speaking in a voice lower
than before: "I mean what I say. I don't want you. I don't want any
one. There's nothing for us to say to one another. It's only waste
of time."
"Yes," she answered. "That's your side of the question. There's also
mine. Once before you had your own way and I was very miserable
about it. Now it's my turn. I'm going to stay here until we've
talked."
He turned, his face working angrily, upon her.
"You can't stay here. It's impossible. What do you do it for when I
tell you I don't want you? First my sister .
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