His face twisted out of repose, flooded darker and darker with red. "You devil," he said, "you knew you'd get me." "You go!" she cried, her lips pulled with the degradation of the moment. He grasped her so that the breath jumped out of her. "Oh," she cried, wrenching herself free, "don't you dare put your foot in this house--" "Then the Gramatan, Lilly. It's quiet and first class there--we can have a talk. I'll call a cab--the Gramatan. Or my place--I live alone." "If you do I--I'll bite! I'll bite, you hear?" "Do it," he said, his face the color that was Iago's, grasping her then in the shadow of the storm door, and kissing her so on the open lips that to evade him she had to wriggle down to her knees and out of his clasp. The shamefulness of the scene not to be endured, she held her hand with the key in it behind her back; then suddenly let it fly up for her hatpin. "If you come near me--" He stood back from her upflung arm, his refinement of feature incongruous under the rush of ox-blood red, his teeth showing whiter as he darkened. "What the devil do you want, then? You devil! Who are you? There's only one woman in a thousand I'd follow to a joint like this. I'm afraid of them. Now I've had enough of this baby talk from you. It doesn't match this house! What's your game? Let me up." "House!" "What do you expect, with an address like this? There's two kinds of women. You can't be the kind you pretend to be and live here. What is the comedy? I like you, Lilly. Let me up. Come, put that little arm down. God damn it! what do you want?" With a wrench that threw him backward, a frenzied instant of struggle for the lock, and she was in, slamming the door behind her, and up the two flights with such a sense of pursuit that her breath turned to moans in her throat. Once within her room, locking her door on its very slam, and her hat sliding down on her unpinned hair, she dropped down on her bed edge so that the springs coughed, seeming to bleed her tears, so roundly and full of agony they came.