'I've got my wits, what does that mean?' she repeated, in a sullen
voice of antagonism.
'You heard what was asked you, didn't you?' cried her father in anger.
'Of course I heard.'
'Well then, can't you answer?' thundered her father.
'Why should I?'
At the impertinence of this retort, he went stiff. But he said nothing.
'No,' said Birkin, to help out the occasion, 'there's no need to answer
at once. You can say when you like.'
Her eyes flashed with a powerful light.
'Why should I say anything?' she cried. 'You do this off your OWN bat,
it has nothing to do with me. Why do you both want to bully me?'
'Bully you! Bully you!' cried her father, in bitter, rancorous anger.
'Bully you! Why, it's a pity you can't be bullied into some sense and
decency. Bully you! YOU'LL see to that, you self-willed creature.'
She stood suspended in the middle of the room, her face glimmering and
dangerous. She was set in satisfied defiance. Birkin looked up at her.
He too was angry.
'But none is bullying you,' he said, in a very soft dangerous voice
also.
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