was the grosser organism, and it had taken him half a second
longer to perceive, and determine, and proceed to do. She had already
flown at Dennin and gripped his throat, when Hans sprang to his feet. But
her coolness was not his. He was in a blind fury, a Berserker rage. At
the instant he sprang from his chair his mouth opened and there issued
forth a sound that was half roar, half bellow. The whirl of the two
bodies had already started, and still roaring, or bellowing, he pursued
this whirl down the room, overtaking it when it fell to the floor.

Hans hurled himself upon the prostrate man, striking madly with his
fists. They were sledge-like blows, and when Edith felt Dennin's body
relax she loosed her grip and rolled clear. She lay on the floor,
panting and watching. The fury of blows continued to rain down. Dennin
did not seem to mind the blows. He did not even move. Then it dawned
upon her that he was unconscious. She cried out to Hans to stop. She
cried out again. But he paid no heed to her voice. She caught him by
the arm, but her clinging to it merely impeded his effort.

It was no reasoned impulse that stirred her to do what she then did. Nor
was it a sense of pity, nor obedience to the "Thou shalt not" of
religion. Rather was it some sense of law, an ethic of her race and
early environment, that compelled her to interpose her body between her
husband and the helpless murderer. It was not until Hans knew he was
striking his wife that he ceased. He allowed himself to be shoved away
by her in much the same way that a ferocious but obedient dog allows
itself to be shoved away by its master. The analogy went even farther.
Deep in his throat, in an animal-like way, Hans's rage still rumbled, and
several times he made as though to spring back upon his prey and was only
prevented by the woman's swiftly interposed body.

Back and farther back Edith shoved her husband. She had never seen him
in such a condition, and she was more frightened of him than she had been
of Dennin in the thick of the struggle. She could not believe that this
raging beast was her Hans, and with a shock she became suddenly aware of
a shrinking, instinctive fear that he might snap her hand in his teeth
like any wild animal. For some seconds, unwilling to hurt her, yet
dogged in his desire to return to the attack, Hans dodged back and forth.
But she resolutely dodged with him, until the first glimmerings of reason
returned