"Yes, yes. Tell me, please, I cannot bear the anxiety."
He did not reply. Instead he seized his rifle, and placing the butt
to her waist pushed with all his might. Elizabeth went hurtling
across the room, to fall with a crash against the wall.
The man laughed brutally and slammed the door.
More hours passed. Elizabeth never knew how many, but it seemed a
score or so. The room was in pitch darkness. Racked with physical
pain from her bruised body, mentally a prey to an overwhelming fear,
she sat in a chair, sick and dazed. So Grocz found her when, bearing
aloft a flickering candle, which he set down, he visited her to make
her acquainted with the orders of the Dictator of the Proletariat.
"I have brought you a light."
She looked up at him dully. "My father--won't you tell me, please?
Where is he? What are you going to do with him?"