Herman Klein, watch between forefinger and thumb, climbed heavily to
Anna's room. She heard him pause outside the door, and her heart almost
stopped beating. She had been asleep, and rousing at his step, she had
felt under the pillow for her watch to see the time. It was not there.

She remembered then; she had left it below, on the table. And he was
standing outside her door. She heard him scratching a match, striking it
against the panel of her door. For so long as it would take the match to
burn out, she heard him there, breathing heavily. Then the knob turned.

She leaped out of the bed in a panic of fear. The hall, like the room,
was dark, and she felt his ponderous body in the doorway, rather than
saw it.

"You will put on something and come down-stairs," he said harshly.

"I will not." She tried to keep her voice steady. "I've got to work, if
you haven't. I've got to have my sleep." Her tone rose, hysterically.
"If you think you can stay out half the night, and guzzle beer, and then
come here to get me up, you can think again."

"You are already up," he said, in a voice slowed and thickened by rage.
"You will come down-stairs."

He turned away and descended the creaking stairs again. She listened for
the next move, but he made none. She knew then that he was waiting at
the foot of the stairs.