But Ida, her fear and terror at its height, calling: “Ed! Ed! You come back here! Don’t you dare to leave me like this! I won’t stand for it. I tell you, I won’t! You come back here now! Do you hear me?” And seeing that he continued on briskly and indifferently, running after him, unbelievably tense and a little beside herself—almost mentally unaccountable for the moment. And he, seeing her thus and amazed and troubled by this new turn his problem had taken, turning abruptly with: “Say! You cut out o’ this now before I do something to you, do you hear? I’m not the one to let you pull this stuff on me. You got yourself into this and now you can get yourself out of it. Beat it before I do something to you, do you hear?” And now he drew nearer—and with such a threatening and savage look in his eyes that for the first time in all her contact with him Ida grew fearful of him. That angry, sullen face. Those fierce, cruel, savage eyes. Was it really true that in addition to all the rest he would really do her physical harm? Then she had not understood him at all, ever. And so pausing and standing quite still, that same fear of physical force that had kept her in subjection to her father overawing her here. At the same time, Hauptwanger, noting the effect of his glowering rage, now added: “Don’t come near me any more, do you hear? If you do, you’re goin’ to get something you’re not going to like. I’m through, and I’m through for good, see.” Once more he turned and strode away, this time toward the central business district of the High and Warren Avenue region—the while Ida, too shaken by this newest development to quite grasp the full measure of her own necessity or courage, stood there. The horror of it! The disgrace! The shame! For now, surely, tragedy was upon her! For the time being, in order to save herself from too much publicity, she began to move on—walk—only slowly and with whirling, staggering thoughts that caused her to all but lurch. And so, shaking and pale, she made her way once more to her home, where she stole into her room unnoticed. Yet, now, too tortured to cry but thinking grimly—fiercely at moments—at other times most weakly and feebly even—on all that had so recently occurred. Her father! Her stepmother! If he—she—they should come to know! But no—something else must happen before ever that should be allowed to happen. She must leave—or—or, better yet—maybe drown herself—make way with herself in some way—or— In the garret of this home, to which as a child on certain days she had frequently resorted to play, was an old wire clothes-line on which was hung an occasional wash. And now—might not that—in the face of absolute fiasco here—might not that—she had read of ending one’s life in that manner. And it was so unlikely that any one would trouble to look there—until—until—well—