The outbreak downstairs had been an abnormality.
And now she stood before her with hands clenched, her little face
wild with defiant rage.
"I'll scream! I'll scream! I'll SCREAM!" she shrieked. Andrews
actually heard herself gulp; but she sprang up and forward.
"You'll SCREAM!" she could scarcely believe her own feelings--not
to mention the evidence of her ears, "YOU'LL scream!"
The next instant was more astonishing still. Robin threw herself on
her knees and scrambled like a cat. She was under the bed and in
the remotest corner against the wall. She was actually unreachable,
and she lay on her back kicking madly, hammering her heels against
the floor and uttering piercing shrieks. As something had seemed
to let itself go when she writhed under the bushes in the Gardens,
so did something let go now. In her overstrung little mind there
ruled for this moment the feeling that if she was to be pinched,
she would be pinched for a reason.
Andrews knelt by the side of the bed. She had a long, strong,
thin arm and it darted beneath and clutched. But it was not long
enough to attain the corner where the kicking and screaming was
going on. Her temper became fury before her impotence and her
hideous realization of being made ridiculous by this baby of six.
Two floors below the afterglow of the little dinner was going on.
Suppose even far echoes of the screams should be heard and make
her more ridiculous still.
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