He was leaving her
in anger, without a word. She turned very pale and hesitated. Then she
ran forward to overtake him, but he, hearing her approach, quickened his
stride, seeming but little hampered in his pace by the burden he bore.
But Unorna, too, was fleet of foot and strong.
"Stop!" she cried, laying her hand upon his arm. "Stop! Hear me! Do not
leave me so!"
But he would not pause, and hurried onward towards the gate, while
she hung upon his arm, trying to hinder him and speaking in desperate
agitation. She felt that if she let him go now, he would leave her for
ever. In that moment even her hatred of Kafka sank into insignificance.
She would do anything, bear anything, promise anything rather than lose
what she loved so wildly.
"Stop!" she cried again. "I will save him--I will obey you--I will be
kind to him--he will die in your arms if you do not let me help you--oh!
for the love of Heaven, wait one moment! Only one moment!"
She so thrust herself in the Wanderer's path, hanging upon him and
trying to tear Kafka from his arms, that he was forced to stand still
and face her.
"Let me pass!" he exclaimed, making another effort to advance. But she
clung to him and he could not move.
"No,--I will not let you go," she murmured. "You can do nothing without
me, you will only kill him, as I would have done a moment ago--"
"And as you will do now," he said sternly, "if I let you have your way.
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