"No," said Sally, "I won't." There was no mercy, no humility. Only a
hard defiance.

"Yes, you will." He pulled her towards him, so that Sally could not
escape. She was now wholly within the circle of his arm, not struggling,
but with her poor thin arms staving him off. Her body was tense. But she
made no sound, and if there were any passers they knew that this was
only a typical lovers' tiff, common to the neighbourhood, and largely a
matter of physical strength and feminine vituperation. "Yes, you will.
See? Come on, Sally."

"You let me go," she demanded.

"Say you'll come. I'll let you go the moment you say that."

Sally hesitated, then bowed her head in a slow acquiescence. He released
her, and she ran; but he easily overtook her, and she was once again
held, still with her back to a pillar. Both were now breathing hard.
Sally's head was lowered. She was suffocating. She seemed to be in
complete darkness. And she had no sense of what was happening. The mere
technique of the row absorbed her. They were almost like two quarrelling
cats, both sullen, both glowering and full of resentment rather than
burning anger.

"Will you come?" asked Toby. "Just for a walk. Half an hour."

"What d'you want me to come for?"

"Want to talk to you."

"Yes, well, I don't want to talk to you. Understand?" Sally was suddenly
trembling with a passionate rage. Her voice quivered as she spoke, and
the words tumbled out in a savage incoherence.

"I'm going to talk to you. So you may as well make up your mind to come.
You don't want to stand here all night, do you?" He was as savage as
she, and more grim. Sally made an attempt to escape, and was further
pinned. He was breaking down the defence of her tired arms. One of his
knees was against her leg. She was slipping, slipping, and her resolve
to fight against him was fading as rapidly in her sense of the physical
contact. She burst into tears. For an instant he loosed her, at that,
but as she sobbingly began to run away he resumed his former hold,
pressing her against him, a broken little girl, and no longer the
triumphant Sally of the morning. Her hand was to her eyes, and she was
biting her lip to restrain her sobs. Toby put his free hand up and
touched hers, held it, drew it away from her wet face.

"Sally," he said. "I want you. Don't cry, Sally."

His arm tightened. His face was close. Although she turned away her
head, and tried to wrench herself free, Sally knew his li