Totally unconscious of all that had happened to himself
during the preceding quarter of an hour, the Wanderer was deprived of
the key to the situation. He only understood that the stranger was for
some reason or other deeply incensed against Unorna, and he realised
that the intruder had, on the moment of appearance, no control over
himself.
Israel Kafka remained where he stood, between the two tall stones, one
hand resting on each, his body inclined a little forward, his dark,
sunken eyes, bloodshot and full of a turbid, angry brightness, bent
intently upon Unorna's face. He looked as though he were about to move
suddenly forwards, but it was impossible to foresee that he might not
as suddenly retreat, as a lean and hungry tiger crouches for a moment in
uncertainty whether to fight or fly, when after tracking down his man
he finds him not alone and defenceless as he had anticipated, but
well-armed and in company.
The Wanderer's indolence was only mental, and was moreover transitory
and artificial. When he saw Unorna advance, he quickly placed himself
between her and Israel Kafka, and looked from one to the other.
"Who is this man?" he asked. "And what does he want of you?"
Unorna made as though she would pass him. But he laid his hand upon
her arm with a gesture that betrayed his anxiety for her safety. At his
touch, her face changed for a moment and a faint blush dyed her cheek.
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