She was alert to the advantage that had suddenly come to her, and she
ran lightly to the door and tried to lift the bar. She got one end of
it from a socket, but the other stuck. She pulled frantically at it. It
finally came loose, with a suddenness that threw her off balance, and
she reeled against the bed, almost falling.
She saw Slade coming toward her, a bestial rage in his eyes, and she
threw herself again at the door, grasping it and throwing it wide open.
She tried to throw herself out of the opening, to the stairs that led
straight downward into the barroom. But the movement was halted at its
inception by Slade's arms, which went around her with the rigidity of
iron hoops, quickly constricting. She got a glimpse of the room
below--saw the bar and the men near it--all facing her way, watching
her. Then Slade drew her back and closed the door.
He did not bar the door, for she was fighting him, now--fighting him
with a strength and fury that bothered him for an instant. His strength,
however, was greater than hers, and at last her arms were crushed
against her sides with a pressure that almost shut off her breath.
Slade's face was close to hers, his lips loose; and his eyes were
looking into hers with an expression that terrified her.
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