He turned to look at her; her dumb, brown eyes met his. He wanted to
snarl: "Get the hell away! Leave me alone!" But he choked back the
words. It was not Hertha he was angry with. She had done him no injury.
She had merely followed him, perhaps because she knew of nothing else
to do; perhaps because of temporary gratitude for the coins; perhaps
in hope that he would buy her a drink. When the anger passed, he felt
sorry for her again.