Yet it was not the shrinking anguish of her other experiences of angry scenes.

She made a mighty effort, though her knees were knocking together, and in an expiring voice demanded that he should let her go indoors.

"Don't stop me.

It's no use.

It's no use," she repeated faintly, feeling an invincible obstinacy rising within her, yet without anger against that raging man.
He became articulate suddenly, and, without raising his voice, perfectly audible.
"No use! No use! You dare stand here and tell me that--you white-faced wisp, you wreath of mist, you little ghost of all the sorrow in the world.