Distinctly, against her quivering side, she felt the pressure of
a warm furry bulk. Into her paralyzed hand a reassuring cold
muzzle was thrust. And, over her, came a sense of wonderful
safety from all harm. Facing her father with a high-pitched loud
laugh of genuine courage, she shrilled:
"You don't dare touch me! You don't dare lay one finger on me!"
And she meant it. Her look and every inflection of the defiant
high voice proved she meant it; proved it to the dumfounded
Ruloff, in a way that sent funny little shivers down his spine.
The man came to a shambling halt; aghast at the transfigured
little wisp of humanity who confronted him in such gay
fearlessness.
"Why don't I dare?" he blustered, lifting the brass-buckled
weapon again.
"You don't dare to!" she laughed, wildly. "You don't dare,
because you know he'll kill you, This time he won't just knock
you down. He'll KILL you! He'll never let you hit me again. I
know it. He's HERE! You don't dare touch me! You won't ever dare
touch me! He--"
She choked, in her shout of weird exultation.
Pages:
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370