“Shut up, you little fool,” he said. “I shan’t hurt you.”

But Emily’s nerve had gone. She opened her mouth to scream again. Stephen’s hands tightened about the neck and the scream was never heard. “ Now , will you be quiet?” he said. “You’re perfectly safe, Emily⁠—I’m sorry.⁠ ⁠… I was a fool⁠ ⁠…” and he released his grip.

But Emily was thoroughly, hideously, frightened now. A kind of despairing wail, a thin and inarticulate “Help!” came from her. Stephen put his hand over her mouth, and Emily bit him.

And then Stephen saw red. The lurking animal which is in every man was already strong in him that evening, though Emily’s first scream had cowed it a little. Now it took complete charge. With a throaty growl of exasperation he put both hands at the soft throat of Emily and shook her, jerkily exhorting her as he did so, “Will⁠—you⁠—be quiet⁠—you⁠—silly⁠—little fool⁠—will you⁠—be quiet⁠—you⁠—fool⁠—you’ll⁠—have⁠—everybody⁠—here⁠—you⁠ ⁠…”