"
She made a second attempt to release herself; and this time, she wrenched
her hand out of his grasp with a strength for which he was not prepared.
That fiercest anger which turns the face pale, was the anger that had
possession of Cristel as she took refuge with her father. "You asked me
to bear with that man," she said, "because he paid you a good rent. I
tell you this, father; my patience is coming to an end. Either he must
go, or I must go. Make up your mind to choose between your money and me."
Old Toller astonished me. He seemed to have caught the infection of his
daughter's anger. Placed between Cristel and his money, he really acted
as if he preferred Cristel. He hobbled up to his lodger, and shook his
infirm fists, and screamed at the highest pitch of his old cracked voice:
"Let her be, or I won't have you here no longer! You deaf adder, let her
be!"
The sensitive nerves of the deaf man shrank as those shrill tones pierced
them. "If you want to speak to me, write it!" he said, with rage and
suffering in every line of his face. He tore from his pocket his little
book, filled with blank leaves, and threw it at Toller's head. "Write,"
he repeated. "If you murder me with your screeching again, look out for
your skinny throat--I'll throttle you."
Cristel picked up the book. She was gratefully sensible of her father's
interference. "He shall know what you said to him," she promised the old
man.
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