He felt the dominant personality of the girl and tried to escape its effect; looked at her with a snarl, writhing under her steady gaze, a slow red coming into his cheeks.
The silence between them lasted long.

The man on the chair, swaying back and forth, began to recover his wits and his breath.

He struggled to an erect position and gazed about him with blood-shot eyes, feeling his throat where Calumet's iron fingers had gripped it.

Twice his lips moved in an effort to speak, but no, sound came from between them.
Under the girl's uncomfortable scrutiny, Calumet's thoughts became strangely incoherent, and he shifted uneasily, for he felt that she was measuring him, appraising him, valuing him.

He saw slow-changing expressions in her eyes--defiance, scorn, and, finally, amused contempt.