"Say, Miss Trina, will you ?" "What is it?
What do you mean ?" she cried, confusedly, her words muffled beneath the rubber.
"Will you ?" repeated McTeague.
"No, no," she exclaimed, refusing without knowing why, suddenly seized with a fear of him, the intuitive feminine fear of the male.

McTeague could only repeat the same thing over and over again.

Trina, more and more frightened at his huge hands--the hands of the old-time car-boy--his immense square-cut head and his enormous brute strength, cried out: "No, no," behind the rubber dam, shaking her head violently, holding out her hands, and shrinking down before him in the operating chair.

McTeague came nearer to her, repeating the same question.

"No, no," she cried, terrified.